


The Boys Club

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: So Much Trouble [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Discipline, Dominance, Eventual Smut, Lifestyles of the Rich and Tony, M/M, Massage, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Not Beta Read, Peter Doesn't Get Spanked, Peter Gets Spoiled, Pizza, Power Imbalance, Sex Toys, Spanking, Starker D/s, Submission, tick tock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Read at your own risk. This? This is LEGAL-AGE FLUFF and SMUT. I'm so proud of how we've grown.  Uh, I decided to bring Kevin back to introduce some spanking to the Tony/Parker dynamic, just go with it, or skip it, it's mostly just me having fun with Kevin, he's such a cutie pie.~~~"Hello, Peter," reads the text message on his phone, "I know we agreed on tomorrow night.  Would you like to come to my place and meet my boys?  Might be fun to get to know other people your age."Peter stares at it for a long time and then texts Kevin back, "I’ll ask Mr. Stark?""Oh, good boy" is the immediate response.Peter thinks for a second and then screenshots the texts and shoots them to Mr. Stark.  Within three minutes, Mr. Stark is invading his personal space, hands flat on the workbench in front of Peter, on either side of him, and murmuring in his ear, “This total honesty thing you have going on is so hot, remind me to thank Kevin, I swear to Christ you are perfect, a screenshot?”
Relationships: Original Male Characters/Original Male Characters, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: So Much Trouble [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562707
Comments: 71
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read because I have no patience.
> 
> Triggers aplenty here, let me know if I missed one and I can add more tags and warnings.
> 
> NOT ENDGAME COMPLIANT. (Let's be real here, this AU is barely MCU compliant.)
> 
> Dead Dove Warning finally! Finally! We're here! Starker D/s FLUFF!
> 
> For prudes, these are fictional characters and I've double checked, no one actually has a skeevy real-life relationship as a result of this series, so, like, relax. No one is going to get hurt. They're not real.
> 
> For people who hate Original Characters, just skip it and go onto the next chapter (when I post it), this is purely self-serving fluff.

_ Hello, Peter  _ reads the text message on his phone  _ I know we agreed on tomorrow night. Would you like to come to my place and meet my boys? Might be fun to get to know other people your age. _

Peter stares at it for a long time and then texts Kevin back,  _ I’ll ask Mr. Stark? _

_ Oh, good boy _ is the immediate response.  _ You let him know he can call me with questions. _

Peter thinks for a second and then screenshots the texts and shoots them to Mr. Stark. Within three minutes, Mr. Stark is invading his personal space, hands flat on the workbench in front of Peter, on either side of him, and murmuring in his ear, “This total honesty thing you have going on is so hot, remind me to thank Kevin, I swear to Christ you are perfect, a screenshot?”   
  
Peter smirks at the beakers in front of him until he knows his voice is under control and says, “Yeah, I thought you’d get that. You’d know, what-what I was, that I was trying to-”   
  
“So hot,” mumbles Mr. Stark, resting his chin on Peter’s shoulder. His body heat is baking into Peter, and Peter can feel his muscles relaxing. “So, did you tell him you were going to ask because you want to go or because you don’t want to go and you want me to be the reason why?”   
  
Peter blinks. It honestly hadn’t occurred to him he could use this thing with Mr. Stark that way. “Uh, first one? Maybe? Is it- I mean, is it going to be weird? Being there? Have you been?”   
  
Mr. Stark chuckles, one of Peter’s favorites, and it rumbles through the points of contact between them. “It’s a gigantic penthouse, he has anywhere between three and six scantily clad young men draped around artistically, but it’s not a den, he knows you’re mine, he likes setting up young men with forever homes, Peter. He’s not going to try anything with you.”

Peter nods, and blows out a breath. “I kinda want to go? Just, it would be nice to meet other, you know,” he gestures at himself. “But I don’t want to go alone?” It’s not even a hint, he knows that, and he closes his eyes because he’s so  _ needy _ .   
  
“I’ll talk to Kevin, see if I can clear my night,” Mr. Stark says, and he’s rubbing Peter’s stomach with a possessive hand, now. “You going even if I can’t?”

Peter hesitates, and then nods. “But, like, preferentially, with you.”

“Perfect Peter Parker,” whispers Mr. Stark into his ear, and Peter shivers. Mr. Stark chuckles again, and then slaps him on the hip. “Back to work, millions of dollars don’t make themselves, stop distracting me, Trouble.”   
  
“Yes, sir,” says Peter, hunching his shoulders a little because with Mr. Stark peeled off of him the lab is a little chilly.

~~~

Three hours later, he gets another text from Kevin,  _ Everything arranged. See you at 7. I promise the boys will be on their company manners if they have to eat standing up for it to happen. _ _   
_ __   
Peter considers the implications of that statement and then he makes himself stop thinking about it. He’s in the middle of science. He has science to do. He can’t be distracted by trouble that’s not even his. But that- that means what he thinks it means, right? I mean, there's only one reason to have to eat standin- SCIENCE. He's doing SCIENCE.


	2. Chapter 2

At six-fifteen the next night, Mr. Stark is straightening Peter’s tie, scolding, “This is a half-Windsor, treat it with some respect.”   
  
“Yes, sir, Mr. Stark,” responds Peter, rolling his eyes. It hadn’t been his idea to get into suits in the first place, but Pepper had mentioned how Kevin liked his eye candy and Mr. Stark’s eyes had lit up and he said, “So do I! And he can’t touch mine!” So now Peter’s in a tightly-tailored tan suit, linen for the last heat of the season, and Mr. Stark is in navy blue.   
  
They’re waiting for Happy to bring the car around, tucked into an office on the ground floor. Peter’s wearing one of Mr. Stark’s watches on his left wrist, because Tony got in a fight with Pepper about whether or not Peter could wear one of Mr. Stark’s shirts with this suit and Tony lost big time because apparently their lines are different. He threatened to make Peter wear a collar and Pepper came to Peter’s rescue with the watch idea and so now he has a small fortune around his left wrist.

“I love how you say that, with the eye rolling,” grunts Mr. Stark. “Let me remember to address that later.”   
  
Peter shivers a little at the tone in his voice, thinking of all the things  _ address _ could mean, and then slants a glance up at Mr. Stark’s face and asks, “What?” when he sees the fond smile on the older man’s face.

“Nothing. Just, remembering, before the Accords shindig, tying your bow-tie and, God, it was so hard not to just-” and he darts forward, one hand tight on the tie, pulling Peter into him, and the kiss is all teeth and tongue, pornographic. It’s also over about as fast as it had begun, leaving Peter reeling as Mr. Stark says, “yeah, that. Like that, jailbait. And you were just so- did you even-?”   
  
Peter smiles up at him and says, earnestly, “I didn’t even, I mean, you were Mr. Stark, you know, and I had a crush on you, God, I had a poster of you and used to, you know, when I was like thirteen,” he can feel the blush creep up as he gestures vaguely downward. “And I was so flustered, you just walked in my room, looking like- well, you know, like  _ you _ \- Mr. Stark.”    
  
Mr. Stark grins at him, not disappointed, hand still clutching his tie, pulling him just a little bit, just enough so he can feel it, so he feels bold enough to say, “But I did, I did think about it.” Mr. Stark licks his lips and stares at Peter’s lips and he says, quietly, “A lot. I thought-” and now he’s licking his lips, because Mr. Stark is staring at them, “I thought about it a lot.”   
  
“On the list, we do that again, I get to re-write history,” Mr. Stark declares. “Next black-tie, put it on my schedule. Dress you up all tight and pretty, make you walk around, looking like that, thinking about it, and then undress you after, maybe find other things to do with the tie all night.”   
  
“Yes, Mr. Stark,” says FRIDAY. They both startle, and then she continues, “Happy has brought the car to the door.” Mr. Stark laughs shortly, a quick sharp burst of air, and releases Peter’s tie, pressing it back against his shirt, fingers ironing out any wrinkles he’s created. Peter concentrates very hard on his breathing because, well, he  _ needs a sec, okay? _

Mr. Stark gestures impatiently for Peter to follow him, opening the car door and sliding him into the backseat smoothly like they’ve been doing this for years. While they ride, he wraps a casually possessive hand around Peter’s thigh and Peter fiddles with the watch. Mr. Stark talks with Happy about the traffic and their plans for the next day, and when they arrive, Peter makes eye contact with Happy and realizes  _ Happy knows _ . Happy winks at him and shakes his head, the gesture calming down any incipient panic Peter had been about to feel. His eyes are friendly, and bemused, and remind Peter of when Pepper had said wryly, “Called it.”

The doorman recognizes Mr. Stark and murmurs his name, letting them into the lobby, where Mr. Stark turns to travel down a hallway, twisting and turning past two sets of elevators until he stops in front of a single elevator. He pushes a buzzer and after a pause, the door on the elevator opens and he tucks his hand on Peter’s back and escorts him in.   
  
There’s no buttons on this elevator, other than the standard fire department call buttons. Mr. Stark says, “Last chance to back out. I could fake a sudden stomach flu.”   
  
Peter shakes his head and snorts, “You’re the one who said it was going to be safe.”

“Kevin is the definition of unsafe when hot young subby twinks are involved,” chuckles Mr. Stark. “But I think I can take him. I’m much more your type.”   
  
Peter turns slightly to look up at him and says, slowly and carefully, “You are exactly my type.”   
  
Mr. Stark gets two spots of color, high on his cheeks, and the door opens on them staring at each other, no space between them.   
  
Kevin’s chuckle fills the air, and he says, “Welcome, my old friend, Peter.” Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at Peter and they turn to face their host with smiles.   
  
The place is opulent, Peter expected that, but like Mr. Stark’s penthouse, it’s tasteful. There’s something subtly masculine about everything, or maybe it’s only that he’s used to Pepper’s small feminine touches around the penthouse. Kevin is standing in the middle of the foyer, and Peter can see that there are bodies in the room behind him.   
  
Mr. Stark steps forward and shakes Kevin’s hand, and Peter goes to do the same, only to be pulled closer and have his cheek kissed. “Allow an old man,” murmurs Kevin, releasing him. “You come to my house looking like that, well, one kiss won’t hurt either of us, Tony, hackles down.”   
  
Mr. Stark, who hadn’t had any hackles up as far as Peter can see, laughs a little and says, “Fair’s fair, though.”   
  
“Oooh, won’t the boys like that?” teases Kevin lightly. “Come on and meet my current collection, just the four, Peter.”   
  
They follow Kevin into a living room, with ridiculously overstuffed leather furniture scattered around. Four young men are scattered around, also in suits, although Peter can see that they’re not, well, as stylish as the ones he and Mr. Stark are sporting. They all stand as Kevin introduces them. “This is Hunter, you remember him,” says Kevin, clearly fond. “And that’s Eddie, he’s the one you got into all that trouble at the Expo, remember? And then Bryce, he’s the newest addition, and do you know Dylan? I can’t remember, have I ever introduced you to my old friend, Dylan?” he asks.   
  
Dylan shakes his sandy blonde head and says, “No, daddy, I’d remember him, trust me.” His tone is absolutely salacious and Peter feels a small shock.   
  
The other boys bust out laughing until Kevin raises an eyebrow and says, “Boys, I promised company manners.” They immediately look shamefaced and Dylan says, “Sorry, just nerves, I didn’t mean to be rude,” to Mr. Stark.   
  
Peter expects him to wave it off, but Mr. Stark considers Dylan for a moment and says, slowly, in a tone Peter absolutely recognizes, “Do better, then.” 

Dylan flushes bright red and slants a gaze at Peter, who is blushing  _ for _ him. “Yes-yes sir,” stammers Dylan, looking up through his lashes at Mr. Stark.    
  
Kevin swats him as he walks by, murmuring, “Company manners from here out or you won’t be sitting through dinner, clear? Mr. Stark didn’t drive across the city to deal with your sass, and he’s been around long enough to know the score.”   
  
“Clear, daddy,” sighs Dylan, falling in behind Kevin. They all walk to the dining area, where there’s some kind of chicken and rice dish with asparagus on each plate.    
  
“My Bryce is studying to be a chef,” says Kevin proudly. “I had him slave away in the kitchen for us, one of our favorite meals.”   
  
“I hope you like it,” says Bryce to Peter, enthusiastically. “It’s pretty universal fare.”   
  
“I’m sure I will,” Peter assures him, “I like food and I haven’t had anything since noon. It smells great.”   
  
“Growing boys,” says Kevin fondly, taking his seat at the head of the table.   
  
Mr. Stark pulls out a chair and Peter slides into it, reading his intentions loud and clear. Mr. Stark takes the one beside it and the rest of the men shuffle into their seats. Eddie, on Peter’s other side, winces and vents an almost inaudible hiss as he takes his seat. Peter follows Mr. Stark’s lead and ignores everything but his food and his own polite manners.   
  
Conversation is light, mostly between Kevin and Mr. Stark, everyone else contributing small additions but clearly no one wants to err on the side of getting in trouble. It’s not unpleasant, just a little stilted. Mr. Stark and Kevin don’t seem to notice, laughing at stories about mutual acquaintances.    
  
Eventually, as most of the plates are emptied and the men start picking at their food with their eyes darting elsewhere in the penthouse, Kevin sighs and says, “Okay, boys, you’ve given us our nice dinner, you’re free, go flee.”   
  
Eddie grabs Peter’s hand and says, “He comes with us!” in a challenging tone of voice. He’s looking directly at Mr. Stark, and Peter can’t help but think that’s not the smartest idea.   
  
Kevin raises an eyebrow at Eddie and says slowly, in a tone of mild surprise, “Of course, Eddie. That was the entire point of the evening, if you recall.”   
  
“Thanks, Daddy,” smiles Hunter, standing and gesturing for Dylan to follow him.   
  
“Can I take off this monkey suit and get comfortable?” whines Bryce quietly as he passes by Kevin. Peter is startled to see his lower lip pouted out, before Eddie tugs him past the pair. It seems rude to turn and watch, but Peter has super hearing so it’s not an issue to eavesdrop. 

Kevin chuckles and says, “Thank you for wearing it. Go, get comfortable, you’re awful, leave us to talk.”   
  
“Thanks, daddy,” says Bryce brightly, and then he’s right behind Peter. “Oh, Eddie, he said we can take off the suits,” he hisses.   
  
“Thank God,” says Eddie, and with one last tug they’re in a large grey room with electronics everywhere, dominated by a huge screen taking up almost an entire wall. “This, is the playroom. Kevin hates it, but one of the guys about five years ago was really into the tech scene and he set it all up and we’ve been maintaining it ever since.” He waves Peter to a couch and then disappears with Bryce through another doorway.   
  
“Bryce, that was amazing, thank you,” calls Dylan, “my absolute favorite, I am so glad you are here.”   
  
“You just appreciate that we don’t have to rotate meals,” snorts Hunter.   
  
“Eddie’s the real brat,” Dylan says to Peter. “I swear, I’m not usually in trouble at all.”

“Oh,” says Peter, and he could kick himself.  _ Oh,  _ he mocks himself silently.   
  
“I’ve been here the longest,” Hunter tells him. “You can ask me anything, I’m so used to new boys coming and going. What’s it like with Mr. Stark, though? Kevin says he’s not a daddy, but how does that even work?”

“I don’t know?” replies Peter. “I don’t know how daddies work, I just, I mean…”

“Oh, sure,” says Hunter, dark eyes flashing with good humor. “I wasn’t, I just meant, like, is he good to you? Did he find you or did you find him?”

“He’s- good,” says Peter lamely, and then, because he has got to grow a pair and contribute, he continues, “We kind of found each other? Like, it just kind of worked out this way?”

“Ahhh, true love,” sighs Dylan, and it’s not even really mocking. “I love love stories.”

“Well ours is kind of boring,” Peter tells him. “And we’re, it’s all new."

Both men nod. “Yeah, Kevin told us,” says Hunter. “Well, anyway, don’t take Eddie seriously, he’s such a brat, he’s going to poke you to see if you’ll bite him, it’s awful, I hope Mr. Stark does get him in trouble again, serve him right.” Peter nods uncertainly.

“He’s basically an attention whore,” adds Dylan. “So you could try to avoid it by just paying attention to him, too.”   
  
“I heard that!” shouts Eddie from just outside the door. He enters at a fast pace and Peter stares. He’s wearing a tight pink t-shirt and white sleep shorts cut small, showing off, well, pretty much everything. He’s taken off his socks, even. As he passes Peter, Peter can see, well, marks, on his upper thighs and it makes his stomach flop with some emotion he can’t define.

“Exhibit A,” hisses Dylan, “I mean, obvious much.”

Eddie tosses his head and flops on his belly on the couch and says, “So, Peter, do you get spanked or what?”

“Oh my God,” cries Hunter, throwing his arms up, “you cannot just ask someone that.”

“What?” says Eddie, and his dark eyes are wicked and laughing as he looks at Peter, “he’s cool, I can tell.”

“Not yet,” Peter answers him, “but I’m, he’s hinted.”

“Bubble butt like yours, he won’t be hinting long,” Eddie informs him. “He loved getting me in trouble after the Expo, he knows the ropes, even if he isn’t daddy material, you watch yourself.”   
  
“Oh, Tony isn’t a Daddy?” asks Bryce, re-entering the room in pajama pants and a tank. He folds himself up beside Hunter, who wraps an arm around him with all the air of a big brother.   
  
“Nah,” says Hunter authoritatively. “Definitely dom though.”   
  
Hunter, Eddie, Dylan, and Peter all sigh at once, and then crack up laughing at each other’s expressions.

“What’s the difference?” asks Bryce, glancing between them. 

“Well, you regress and Tony won’t do that, it would creep him right out,” says Eddie. “Hell, he handles when we do it, he’s not weirded out by us doing it with Kevin, but doing it with him? He’d freak.”   
  
Hunter nods. “Dylan doesn’t regress,” he informs Peter. “But he hits most of Kevin’s checklist because he does domestic discipline.”   
  
Dylan nods at Peter, “I just can’t get into the headspace, and eventually I feel stupid playing with all the toys.”

“But the rest of us do,” Hunter tells Peter. “Only of course we’ll stay out of our lil’ space tonight.”

“Unless I get in trouble,” warns Eddie. “Then fuck that, I’ll do whatever I want.”

“Just stay out of trouble,” hisses Dylan. “Shouldn’t be a problem, but then again, look what you’re wearing.”

“There is nothing wrong with what I’m wearing,” says Eddie in a warning tone of voice. “Kevin loves it.”

“Yeah, but not when we have company!” protests Hunter, laughing.

“Look, either Tony is family or he’s company, Daddy has to pick one.”

“Yeah, because pushing Daddy is a great way to get what  _ you _ want,” laughs Dylan.

Bryce says, worriedly, “I mean, you just got spanked this afternoon, Eddie, don’t you, I mean-”   
  
“Oh don’t worry about his ass,” says Hunter fondly, slanting a glance at Eddie. “He can take a whole lot more.”

“Hunter’s still here because he had a guy all lined up and then the guy took a job in Qatar,” interrupts Eddie, staring hard at Peter. “He’s getting almost past his shelf life, but Kevin still thinks he can find just the right Daddy to take him on, it’s ridiculous.”   
  
Peter whips his head to look at Hunter, who hisses and says, “Want me to air your dirty laundry, little boy? Tell our new friend all your little secrets, too? You are aching for a take down tonight, I swear.”

Dylan says, “Okay, calm down, everyone just be cool.”

Eddie sniffs but sits silently. Peter watches Bryce relax and then Dylan says, “It’s not usually a nuthouse here, I swear, but Daddy doesn’t have a ton of visitors who are in the scene, we mostly go out. So this is kind of weird for us.”

The four men nod heads. Bryce says, “So, ok, but is Tony your boss? Because like is that hard? He could fire you?”

Peter laughs, “Oh, I’m not really an intern, there’s no contract with SI, God, that would be weird. Half the time he calls me his apprentice or protege or whatever but he doesn’t pay me. SHIELD does, I think, there’s an account, anyway. He just lets me have the labs and workshop and stuff because we both like science.”

“Oh,” says Bryce doubtfully. “But, like, ok, then-“

“He’s trying to ask who holds the purse,” interrupts Eddie, with a wicked smile. “Are you kept, like us, or is it like, financially mutual?”

“What?” Says Peter.

“We give our paychecks to Daddy,” explains Dylan, “and then he gives us allowances and spoils us. He makes so much money, he doesn’t need ours, but it’s more fun this way.”

“Yeah,” says Bryce, “so like, do you, are you kept, or not?”

Peter thinks about it uneasily, “I don’t know? Maybe?”

“Who bought the suit?” demands Eddie.

“Mr. Stark,” admits Peter.

“Kept!” announces Eddie.

“I don’t know, maybe,” says Peter, trying on the idea but not sure it fits.

“Ok, enough,” says Hunter. “You’re digging on purpose.”

“Daddy said to get to know him,” counters Eddie.

“Yeah, get to know him, not grill him on his relationship,” shoots back Dylan.

“Usually we play video games,” Bryce says uncertainly. “I’m not sure if this is what Daddy thought we’d be doing back here.”

“I can guess what he was hoping we’d be doing back here,” says Dylan with a sly glance at Eddie, who hoots, “Recruitment?” 

Dylan nods and Peter laughs. “I like you guys,” he tells them, deciding it’s true as he says it, “but Mr. Stark is everything.”

“Oooh,” coos Dylan, clutching a pillow in his lap. “I love a love story!”

~~~

An hour later, there’s a throat-clearing sound at the door, and Peter jumps. Mr. Stark is standing there, coat flipped over one shoulder, leaning against the frame. He raises an eyebrow at Peter, whose hand is in Dylan’s lap getting his first manicure, and Peter flushes, but doesn’t know why. He’s not doing anything, after all.

“I see what you mean,” says Bryce in a small voice to Peter, and then he swallows reflexively. 

Dylan glances up and startles, saying, “All-almost done, Tony, if-if that’s ok?”

Mr. Stark seems to consider the question seriously and Dylan bites his lip, and even Eddie is frozen, Peter can see that out of the corner of his eye. How does Mr. Stark just flip this switch in people?

“We’re in no hurry,” says Mr. Stark eventually. All five men relax, exhaling.

“I heard some shouting, earlier?” Mr. Stark says casually, surveying them.

“Oh, that was me,” says Peter easily, “I showed them the screen feature on your watch.”

“Your watch,” insists Mr. Stark. “And you weren’t being a spoiled show-off brat about it, were you?”

Dylan sucks in a breath but Bryce rushes to say, “No, Mr. Stark, Peter’s so cool, he was showing us how it can get Netflix and Eddie said-“

“They liked it, that’s all,” interrupts Peter smoothly. What Eddie had said can just stay between them, he decides. “Like I like it.” He watches Mr. Stark watch them, Dylan bent over the last two nails, and has no idea why he feels like he’s being stalked, the man hasn’t even straightened from his slouch.

“Mm, good,” comments Mr. Stark. “Maybe if they’re really good for their Daddy, Kevin and I will work out a deal for Christmas.”

“Really?” gasps Bryce, his eyes going wide.

“I already have a watch,” says Eddie scornfully, and Hunter hisses at him. “What? It doesn’t even have diamonds,” he continues, as if he hadn’t tried to make the watch work on his own wrist minutes before.

Mr. Stark chuckles and it rolls through the room. “No watch for the naughty one, got it,” he says and Peter is actively grateful someone is capable of shutting Eddie up. He’s wickedly funny most of the time but Peter 100% understands what a brat is, now, the guy does not know when to quit. Peter can tell Eddie tries to look like he doesn’t care, but he is failing miserably.

Kevin comes up beside Mr. Stark and peers in with a proprietary gaze. “No scratched faces? No one in tears? Eddie?”

Eddie huffs and mumbles, “Geez, you’d think I was gonna mug the guy, he’s fine, look, Dylan’s finishing up one of his stupid girly manicures.”

“You love his manicures,” Kevin says mildly, but Eddie twitches like he’s been hit. “I was just checking in with you because you usually don’t sit around pouting, young man.”

Eddie pulls himself up into a sitting position and shrugs and says, “Well they’re all getting watches for Christmas and I’m not, and that’s totally rude to just do, but I guess if you’re a famous douche Dom you can just do whatever-“

“Eddie!” gasps Hunter, and Bryce turns white and whips his whole body to look at Mr. Stark. Dylan hunches to finish the last nail, ignoring everyone and everything. Peter watches Mr. Stark’s calm, dark expression on his face for a second, and then looks over to Eddie, whose chin has lifted and whose jaw is set. Whoo-boy, can Peter identify with that feeling, in the face of that stormy expression. It’s not smart, but he can understand it.

“Mr. Stark,” says Kevin, in a considering tone of voice, “it seems Eddie wants a word with you.” It’s the first time he’s called Tony by his formal name and Peter gulps, because he thinks he can guess what’s going on here. “I do trust you to handle it, but you came here as a guest, not family, so don’t feel you need to.”

“Daddy,” gasps Eddie, grabbing a pillow and clutching it to his stomach. Dylan finishes the nail he’s working on and blows off the accumulated cuticle debris. Peter is staring at Mr. Stark, waiting.

“Mm,” hums Mr. Stark. “Well. It’s been awhile, you usually train them up better than this,” and he waves a dismissive hand at Eddie and Peter winces because that burn is going to need ice. “But if he’s going to find a forever home, he’s going to have to learn to play nice with new friends, isn’t he?”

“My thoughts exactly,” concedes Kevin, tipping his head. 

“Peter?” asks Mr. Stark, and Peter snaps to attention, pulling his hand from Dylan’s and then uncertain what to do with it. He lets it rest on his thigh. “We hadn’t covered this, but Eddie does like to push so maybe we should have. Any objections to me explaining things to his butt, provided it doesn’t take long and we still head home on time?”

Peter’s heart is racing just a little faster than normal and he says, seriously, “If you think it’ll help him, I like to help people, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, good boy,” coos Kevin. Eddie makes a noise like all the air is thumped out of him.

“Mm,” says Mr. Stark, eyes on Peter. After a minute, he says, “Well, you asked, Eddie, you might as well lead the way,” and he gestures to the hallway the boys had come from earlier.

Eddie looks close to crying and says, “But-“

“Color?” asks Kevin calmly.

“Green,” says Mr. Stark. 

“Green,” offers Peter, always game for good communication. Mr. Stark tosses him a smile, twitching his coat from his shoulder to lay neatly on one arm and straightening.

“Y-yellow,” says Eddie, a little fearfully.

“What do you need to know?” asks Kevin seriously.

“J-just his hand? And- and I can say red?”

Mr. Stark responds in a low, calm tone that Peter also recognizes, “In this house, safewords are always respected, as are your boundaries and wishes. Consequences for actions can take many forms, Eddie. It seemed like you were pushing for this. If you’re not, we’ll find something else that will work.” 

Peter is absolutely in love. Dylan leans into him a little, melting just a touch and Peter couldn’t agree more. Kevin is watching with a fond smile on his face, remembering who-knows-what from Mr. Stark’s past.

Eddie's eyes tear up but he nods and says, “Ok, green, but only hands.”

“I’ll bring him back when he’s fit for polite company,” Mr. Stark tells Kevin. He pauses on the threshold and barks at Peter, “You. Trouble! Best behavior while I’m gone!” Peter swallows a laugh as the three remaining boys jump, and nods, and then says, “Yes, sir,” in a clear voice.

Kevin smiles around the room after the door down the hallway closes with a quiet click and tells Peter, “Oh, I do so miss your Tony when he’s too busy for us.”

Peter bursts into laughter and rests his forehead on Dylan’s shoulder. “They’re going to kill me,” he croaks. “It’s a conspiracy. They’re all out to kill me.”

“Mm-hmm,” agreed Dylan, patting his cheek awkwardly. “I hear that.”

“You do not get used to it,” Hunter states definitively, “but I sure hope for Eddie’s butt’s sake his mouth learns to chill the fuck out.”

“Language,” chides Kevin.

“If he has to tell you twice he washes your mouth out with soap,” Bryce tells Peter seriously. Peter laughs again and says, “Oh God. Don’t- don’t tell Mr. Stark.”

“Who do you think gave me the idea?” asks Kevin mildly.

“Killing me,” laughs Peter into Dylan’s shoulder. Dylan pats him awkwardly again, organizing his kit with his other hand, and then says, “Hey, we were all good, can we have ice cream?”

Kevin considers them a moment. Peter straightens up and tries to look angelic. “Yes,” says Kevin judiciously, just as the first yelps can be heard, faintly, from down the hall.

Peter snickers all the way to the kitchen. 

“We told you he was a brat,” sighs Bryce.

~~~

Everyone’s half-way through their bowls when a sniffling Eddie and Mr. Stark enter the kitchen. Eddie rushes over to Peter and says, “I’m sorry I was such a jerk, I’m just jealous of what you have with, with Mr. Stark, and it made me say stuff and I’m sorry, doyouforgiveme?”

Peter says, “Yes, of course,” because he likes Eddie and the guy looks contrite.

Eddie heaves a sigh of relief, it’s almost comic, and Peter realizes he’s changed into loose linen pants at some point. Mr. Stark wanders over and he hasn’t even loosened his tie. He quirks a smile at Peter and Peter offers him a bite of his ice cream. Mr. Stark’s eyes twinkle as he nods and takes the spoonful directly from Peter’s outstretched hand.

“You’re welcome to help me sort out this scamp any night,” Kevin says, his tone mock-scolding as he ruffles Eddie’s dark hair. “He’s almost too much for this old man.”

Mr. Stark scoffs, “I saw your handiwork, you’re doing great, just needs to sink in a bit more.” Eddie perches on the counter until Mr. Stark snaps his fingers and points to an empty chair, “Sit. What’s the point of a punishment if it’s not allowed to make a lasting impression?”

Eddie winces, and gingerly sits, hissing, “I’m bruised, he’s brutal, Daddy.”

Kevin and Mr. Stark share a laugh and Kevin kisses his temple and says, “Serves you right, and I’ll check you before bed, same as always.”

Mr. Stark opens his mouth for another bite of ice cream, and then kisses Peter with his mouth full, chuckling. Ice cream kisses are way better than whisky ones, although Peter will always have a fondness for wine kisses, he would bet money on it.   
  
They don’t stay much longer, just until all the ice cream is done, and the mood in the penthouse is so much lighter now that Eddie is not being such a dick. Everyone is laughing and sharing stories, and Peter hears two new ones about Mr. Stark from Kevin that he is going to tell Pepper to make sure she’s heard. They say goodbye and Peter isn’t all that shocked when all of the men hug him and tell him to come back soon. They’re a very tactile bunch, always in each other’s spaces. He is a little surprised that he wants to come back. Mr. Stark looks at Peter’s schedule and arranges a night with Kevin in three weeks, and invites the rest of the boys with a teasing, “But only if I won’t have to wear my arm out,” which makes Eddie flush miserably, but nod rapidly.

Mr. Stark tucks Peter under his arm for the walk to the elevator, and takes advantage of the elevator doors sliding shut to murmur, “How are you so impossibly perfect, Peter Parker?”

Peter grins at the reflective walls of the elevator and basks a little in the glow of Mr. Stark's approval.


	3. Chapter 3

Pepper wanders into the penthouse at Stark Tower around 11 PM and chucks her shoes three steps from the door. “Tony? Peter?” she calls, and from the couch Peter says, “In here. Tony’s got a call, bedroom.”  
  
She wanders in, an apple in her hand and takes a bite as she settles beside him on the couch. Since he’s begun, well, not dating, but, begun stuff with Mr. Stark, it’s like she’s forgotten that he’s not her boyfriend, too, when they’re alone. It’s nice, Peter likes it, likes the feeling of acceptance and the comforts she offers him. He pauses the movie as she puts her feet up on the couch. “So, how’d the playdate go,” she asks archly, stretching her back against him. 

“Kevin has a brat,” Peter tells her in his best gossip tone as she munches on the apple. He’s learning how to say things like this so that she giggles and demands he tells her more.  
  
She obliges by giggling and says, “No! Not Kevin! How did you find out?”

“He was an ass,” Peter deadpans. “And then Mr. Stark had to take him aside and explain about asses.”

“No!” she gasps, and then asks, “And how did you feel about that?”

“Fine,” says Peter, honestly. “Eddie really needed to be taken down a notch, you should have seen how apologetic and normal he was when they were done.”

“Oh, Eddie,” says Pepper in a knowing tone. “Yeah, he was begging for it at the Expo, did Tony tell you?”

“No, but it was mentioned as part of conversation,” Peter tells her, wiggling his eyebrows. She glances up at his tone and catches the eyebrows and snorts and says, “Poor Eddie.”  
  
She munches another bite and then asks, “And the rest of them? How are they?”   
  
“It was nice,” declares Peter. “I liked it. They’re good men- boys- whatever. They love Kevin, and he loves them, and it’s funny to think he’s going around trying to find them all these men, they were telling me, he takes them to all these events and functions and shows them off, trying to get them hooked up with a permanent sugar daddy, it’s crazy.”

Pepper nods against his shoulder, sinking a little deeper into the couch. “I like Kevin, but he’s his own brand of crazy, and he just keeps finding the boys. I asked him once, with one of them, why he didn’t keep them and you know what what told me?”

Peter shakes his head. 

“He just likes popping cherries,” she says on a laugh. Peter snorts, because it does sound like something Kevin would say.

“Well, it turns out Eddie is jealous of me and Tony,” he tells her.

Pepper snorts, “Eddie and half of the world if we could tell them.”

Peter feels warmed by the way he’s automatically included in her we. Mr. Stark vaults the sofa and lands beside Peter with a muffled, “oof.” and then says, “Hi, Pep, Rhodey says he wants to know how the R&D on the camp stove is going because Hammer is offering $400 per unit. I said you’d call him tomorrow to explain how that’s impossible and dangerous.”

“Thanks, Tony,” huffs Pepper, “But couldn’t you have-”  
  
“I don’t work on that project, I’m not allowed to have anything to do with it, apparently I’m harassing to those employees,” Mr. Stark reminds her in a sing-song voice.   
  
“Oh, hell,” she wheezes with feeling. “Fine. FRIDAY? Add it?”   
  
“Yes, Ms. Potts,” says FRIDAY.

They sit like that, in companionable silence, for a moment until Mr. Stark says, “Okay, did you debrief with him or what?”  
  
“Or what. Just gossip,” laughs Pepper, sliding the rest of the way down the couch so her head is in Peter’s lap. He starts running his fingers through her hair and she hums, closing her eyes. 

“So,” says Mr. Stark in a sing-song tone, “How did the playdate go, Peter?”

“What?” asks Peter, startled. Mr. Stark was there. Pepper frowns and he continues finger combing her hair.

“Were you okay? You said green,” accuses Mr. Stark.  
  
“I mean, it would have been nice to have some warning,” says Peter slowly. “But I promised I’d tell you the truth. I was green. Eddie- you- it was just fine with me. Little short on the negotiation part, but Eddie said green, too.”

“Kevin and I have codes that go way back,” muses Mr. Stark, apparently mollified by this answer, his own hand tipping forward to play with Peter’s hair. “If he was bringing it up like that, then they’d discussed it at some point.”  
  
“-probably after the Expo,” laughs Pepper.   
  
Mr. Stark huffs a laugh, too, and says, “Yeah, what a brat. You, Trouble,” and he grabs a handful of hair and gives Peter a gentle shake, “do not pick up any of that behavior, my God. If you want any of that, you will ask me, and I will give it to you.” He pauses and then adds, smoothing down Peter’s hair, “Well, if I’m in the mood to.”   
  
“Ask you?” gulps Peter, thinking of it.   
  
“Yes. I’m not into non-consensual play, it’s horrible manners to try to get a Dom to spank you when they don’t consent to that kind of rudeness, and while there are plenty of doms out there who love it, I’m not interested. So if you want something,” and his voice dips into a teasing range, “you’re just going to have to ask for it. Nicely.”   
  
“He does hate bad manners in his subs, it never works out if they try to force his hand,” says Pepper with a smile in her voice. “A little friendly teasing, sure, but you should definitely stay good, Peter.”

Peter swallows and says, “I’m not interested in being an Eddie. That guy, he was just rude. Not all night, but when he was, it was like, completely stupid.”

“Kevin loves it,” Mr. Stark tells him. “He doesn’t like to have too many, but he usually has one, he loves the bratting and the license it gives him, the games he can play with it. And, like I said, we have our systems for dealing with it if they decide to go after me. I just, if you want something, you need to ask.”   
  
Pepper reaches over her head and pats Mr. Stark’s thigh and says, “You’re talking so good, I’m so proud.”

Peter thinks about that and then asks plaintively, “Am I a kept boy?”

“Absolutely. Very kept,” Mr. Stark says, fingers threading through Peter’s hair, tilting his head to expose his neck. Peter isn’t surprised when he leans forward for small bites, so he asks, “but what does that mean?”

“It means I am one of the richest men on earth and if I want to buy you things, you let me,” Mr. Stark says immediately. “You don’t do menial labor or anything you don’t really want to, and there’s never going to be a time when our finances are equal, so you just let me spoil you as much as I want.”

Pepper says, “it’s a good offer, and you’ve already taken it.”

Peter sighs, “Yeah, I agree with all of those things it’s just a little demeaning.”

“Earn yourself a couple of Nobels and you’ll feel better about not working for a water safety lab or whatever,” suggests Mr. Stark, still nibbling and gnawing.

“Ok,” says Peter. “Deal.”

“Knew you could see it my way,” agrees Mr. Stark.

Pepper snorts. “As if you let anyone walk around not seeing it your way, Mr. Stark.”

“Well, Capsicle,” points out Mr. Stark. “And Agent Agent.”

“You just like butting heads with them,” Pepper announces.

“You win a lot,” Peter tells her admiringly.

“I do,” she concedes smugly.

“So there you go,” Tony says. She opens her eyes and they share a glance so full of heat and love that Peter feels a little scorched.

Pepper smiles and says, “Peter, you should take him up to your room and reassure him what a good boy you are. But don’t stay too long, Mr. Stark, I claim midnight snuggles.”

Mr. Stark stands with alacrity, and holds out a hand for Peter to grip. Peter slides out from under Pepper, who lays her head on the couch instead and hums a moment, finishing her apple before rolling to her side to watch them. “Stay good, Peter,” she calls fondly, wiggling her fingers at him.

“A-always, ma’am,” Peter stammers back. Mr. Stark’s grip on his hand tightens, and he’s being roughly dragged along behind him. Pepper chuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely gonna have some smut next, just, hold on, because I am hip-deep in the Mile High chapter that I just had to write like RIGHT NOW, but I haven't forgotten the smut I earmarked to go right here.


	4. Chapter 4

Halfway up the stairs to the suites- Peter’s tucked right beside the Stark’s Master Suite- Mr. Stark drops his hand and reaches a hand back casually and grabs Peter’s tie, wrapping it around his fist and just as roughly tugging Peter behind him. “Still green?” he asks, his voice apparently disinterested in Peter’s response, the same tone he gets in the lab when Peter or Bruce is talking to him but his brain is still mostly thinking through the last equation he was working on.   
  
“Yes, sir,” chokes Peter, and his dick twitches in agreement.  _ So _ green. The tie is tight against his neck, not at all choking, but very definitely leading him, and that’s, that’s something Peter’s going to be spending a lot of time thinking about in the near future, he can tell.

“Good,” says Mr. Stark, again, in that disinterested tone, like he’s thinking of twelve other things. They’re at Peter’s room before he feels like he’s caught up to Mr. Stark, who is  _ hustling _ . FRIDAY slides the door open, silently, anticipating them, and slides it closed again just behind Peter’s heels. Mr. Stark doesn’t look back at Peter, he hasn’t looked at him since Pepper suggested Peter take him up to his bedroom, like Peter’s a toy he’s tugging along behind him on a string. Peter is really really good with that image. Peter is so good with that image.

Mr. Stark propels Peter over to the bed, and then wraps the tie around his hand, so his fist is right under the knot, tight against Peter’s chin, and then he slams his fist toward the floor and Peter tumbles, knees landing hard. “Down,” growls Mr. Stark, which is a little, well, it’s a little late, Peter’s already down. 

“Stay,” orders Mr. Stark, releasing the tie, and Peter says, softly, “Yes, sir,” and lifts his eyes to watch Mr. Stark with wary wonder.   
  
Mr. Stark walks around Peter in a circle, considering him with a frown on his face, never meeting Peter’s eyes. Peter hasn’t been told not to look, not to move, so he tilts and twists to follow Mr. Stark’s path, eyes never wavering from Mr. Stark’s face. “Mm,” hums Mr. Stark. “Just… it’s only an hour, less than that, gotta pick, decisions, decisions.”   
  
Peter settles back on his heels cautiously, watching Mr. Stark pace back and forth, and waits. He can feel the tension in his shoulders, how his whole world has focused down to just waiting for Mr. Stark to make a decision, to decide how the next little bit of Peter’s reality is going to play out. He relaxes in some ways and feels more tense in others, and he just waits, eyes on Mr. Stark, and lets it all happen.

“Okay,” announces Mr. Stark, pausing in his movement and leaning back, rubbing his mouth, eyes alight with glee. “I know.”   
  
Peter can feel his heart leap and start beating frantically, but he keeps his eyes on Mr. Stark’s face, his body still.

“Fuck,” swears Mr. Stark with feeling, “Have I told you how fucking perfect you are today?”   
  
“Yes, sir,” says Peter.  _ Multiple times _ , he thinks, but doesn’t say. 

“Mine,” says Mr. Stark, his expression darkening.   
  
“Yes, sir,” says Peter, just as calmly as the last time. One is as much a fact for him as the other, after all.

“Mm,” hums Mr. Stark, and he steps forward, and says, “We’re going to see, right now, how many times, how quickly, you can come for me, Peter. We only have-” he glances at the wall, and Peter chokes, because FRIDAY lights up a countdown timer, it’s huge and  _ Jesus _ , FRIDAY. “46 minutes. Can you give me, hm, I think you can give me three. What’s your bet?”   
  
Peter thinks for a minute- which way would Mr. Stark like more, to guess higher or lower?- and decides to be daring, to be a  _ good boy _ , and says, “I think I can do four.”   
  
Mr. Stark chuckles and says, “Well, let’s go, pitter patter,” and waves at the bed. “Naked, now,” he growls, as Peter begins to rise. Peter shrugs out of his suit jacket, shedding it on the floor, mentally apologizing to the dry cleaner. Mr. Stark drifts near to help him take the tie off, pulling roughly, and yeah, okay, Peter’s been harder, but number one isn’t going to take long, at all, he’s rapidly developing a thing for Mr. Stark’s hands on his ties. _Holy_ _ fuck _ , he didn’t realize his weirdness was going to get  _ worse _ .

“Tick tock, Peter,” murmurs Mr. Stark, and his eyes fly up to the man’s face as they work together to unbutton Peter’s shirt and sleeves. Their hands are frantically flying, and Peter can hear Mr. Stark’s heartbeat racing to match his own. Mr. Stark is watching their hands, but when he notices that Peter’s looking up at him, he grins and blows a breath and says, “Get going, there’s no way you can give me four.”   
  
“I can, though,” says Peter, confidently, even though he’s never- he doesn’t have any data- racing to orgasms isn’t a thing he’s ever done. Mr. Stark scoffs as Peter slides his arms out of the shirt and drops to twitch the belt Mr. Stark gave him open and unbutton the pants. Mr. Stark slides down the zipper, giving Peter a rub that makes his fingers falter, his eyes flutter shut, and his hips thrust forward for more of that touch. Mr. Stark drops his hand and kisses Peter, laughing, “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to- just had to-, go, go,  _ go _ , sorry.” Peter glares up at him and shimmies out of the pants, and Mr. Stark hooks his fingers under Peter’s boxers and skims them down in one smooth motion, Peter kicking out of both of them in seconds. He falls back on the bed and Mr. Stark climbs over him, kneels between Peter’s knees, shoving them aside, hand already reaching for Peter’s dick, and he kisses Peter, jumping past gentle and right into his fucking pornographic tongue-fucking,  _ fuck _ . “Gimme,” he says into the kiss, “Gimme, want it,” he growls, and yup, number one is happening, it’s not going to take much.

Peter shudders in Mr. Stark’s hand and begs, “Lube, please, sir, please, god, if, four, gonna need, please, please.”   
  
“No,” growls Mr. Stark, “you are a self-lubing toy, if you want lube, you’ll damn well access that function, now gimme, let’s go, 43.”

Peter nods, already feeling tears at the corners of his eyes, and thinks about, feels- just thinks about Mr. Stark’s hand, how it’s just a bit too fast, a bit too rough, too tight, and that’s just right, just right, for Mr. Stark to pull, to demand, it feels so, so, so much. He rides those waves for awhile, sinking into the rhythm, letting himself just float and enjoy it. But then Mr. Stark bites down on Peter’s right nipple, hard, sudden, and growls, rolling it between his teeth, “Gimme, mine, gimme,” and that does it, that’s the inspiration, and the world loses a little focus as Peter convulses, and he closes his eyes.   
  
“Fuck, kid, the things you’ll do for me,” moans Mr. Stark into Peter’s chest, forehead resting there, tongue poking at his nipple now. “I know you’re a superhero and everything but have you considered full time sex object as a career path,  _ Jesus fuck _ , kid.”   
  
Peter is gasping but laughing, and he says, “Cap- c-can’t disappoint Cap.”

“Fuck Captain America,” growls Mr. Stark, surging upwards to gnaw at Peter’s lips.   
  
“Not my type,” laughs Peter helplessly, trying to return the kiss, trying to tell his body to get ready, get ready for number two. He can tell his nerves are already stretched too tight, already getting overstimulated, but he told Mr. Stark four and he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to give it his best shot. “Pretty much just want you,” he tells Mr. Stark. “Pretty much only you, ever, just you.”

Mr. Stark groans into his mouth and says, “Fuck, fuck, you can’t just say that, fuck, Peter,” and then he reaches down, swiping his hand through the pool of cum on Peter’s stomach, and grabs Peter’s dick again. It hasn’t even had time to soften, not really, and Mr. Stark murmurs, “Thirty-seven,” as he wraps a hand around Peter and begins pulling, just right, flicking the head with his thumb on each stroke. His other hand descends to play with Peter’s perineum, stroking up and pressing down, massaging in small circles.   
  
“F-fuck,” moans Peter, dropping his head back and throwing an arm up over his eyes to try to get some of his jangling nerves to calm the fuck down. His hips are twitching helplessly, caught in the brutal pace Mr. Stark has set for him, just the other side of pain, hurts-so-good pain, and fuck, yes, fuck. “Yeah, please, Mr. Stark, yes, just-just like that, wanna, give you four, please, just, don’t stop, don’t stop, yes, please.” 

He can feel everything amp up, god, it feels so good, he wants to twist away and twist toward, needs to move. Mr. Stark teases, “Thirty-five,” and Peter gasps, “N-not helping. S-sir,” but that’s half a lie because the sound of Mr. Stark’s mocking tone is quickly becoming as much of a thing for Peter as the damn ties. Mr. Stark changes up the angle of his stroke and Peter grunts, says, “yes, yes, oh, please, yes, yes, justlikethat, yes,” and Mr. Stark growls and says, “Want it, you said four, you said, you’re going to give me, give me what I want, you said,” and Peter can feel himself hyperventilate on the steady stream of need coming from Mr. Stark, who, his brain notes, is still full clothed. 

That’s, that’s fucking, it’s what he needs, he can feel, it’s so much, he reaches out to touch the nearest of Mr. Stark’s shirt cuffs, rest his hand there, just feeling the fabric. Mr. Stark is fully clothed, and Peter is so naked, and needy, and then his back is arching, impossibly, and Mr. Stark is kissing his hip, nipping at it, growling, “Good toy, good toy, gimme, gimme more, what I want, just what I want.”   
  
“Nngh,” groans Peter, his eyes rolling, as he cums again. Mr. Stark laughs disbelievingly, delighted, lips pressed to his hips. “Shit, Peter,” he laughs, “I should have said  _ five. _ ”

Peter shakes his head, shakes everywhere, this is so much, this is too much, but he’s, it’s fun, too, fun to play with his ridiculous responses like this, Mr. Stark laughing. There’s no one in the world who can give Mr. Stark this, no one in the whole world who can, just Peter, and that’s, that’s so important suddenly. He feels tears in his eyes, the tremors are awful, and Mr. Stark’s hand has stilled, just holding his dick, while he shakes.    
  
“Twenty-six,” whispers Mr. Stark, with an encouraging smile. Peter smiles back, exhilarated despite how much everything, even the sheets under his back, is way way too much. “Gonna make it?”   
  
Peter nods, and Mr. Stark says, “Brave toy, you already look wrecked, want me to help a bit more?”

Peter nods, because fuck, he’s never done anything like this, he’s not sure, he could use whatever help, as the shivers trace around his body, aftershocks.

Mr. Stark grins, widely, and traces the finger that had massaged his perineum through the pool of cum on Peter’s stomach, and then carries the cum down, and presses it against Peter’s rim. Peter closes his eyes as it breeches his body and groans. The finger shifts, moving forward and back, coating him in the all natural lubricant, and if he thinks any more about that, it’s, it’s, it’s just a lot, thinking about that, too much to think about while he’s so, while the finger is, it’s a lot.

Mr. Stark is a quick study, and Peter knows he’s already memorized the location of Peter’s sweet spot. He scoops up some more cum, and then twists two fingers in roughly, which makes Peter shout. He nails the spot immediately, and the fingers rest there, rubbing it. The noises that fill the room are so fucking- all Peter can hear is his own whine, wordless and begging and frantic, interlaced with gasps and choking noises. 

“God, Peter,” murmurs Mr. Stark, capturing Peter’s attention with his awestruck tone. He can hear the smug smile just at the edges as Mr. Stark continues, “The fucking things you let me do to you, the fucking filthy things, Peter, you are my favorite toy.”

There’s a moment when Peter thinks, if Mr. Stark would just keep talking, that would, that would maybe be enough. He’s hitting fireworks with every twist of his fingers, and Peter grinds back into his hand helplessly wanton, not caring how it looks, how he looks, chasing number three. Mr. Stark says roughly, “Touch yourself, c’mon, Peter, be a good little fuck for me, gimme what I want, want you, want this-“ his hand thrusts viciously and Peter twists, and gasps, and squeezes his eyes even more tightly, protecting that sense from the abuse of the too much too much too much going on elsewhere. He can see the wisdom in Mr. Stark’s suggestion, though, and slides his hands down through the cooling cum splattered on his stomach, to wrap around his dick, comforting, familiar, they know just how much is just right. 

It’s amazing, Mr. Stark’s fingers attacking him, his own hands soothing and the steady, justright justright justright rhythm, and there’s pain around the edges of everything, his nerves are screaming, this is actually too much, he’s wrung out, but he said four and he’s-

“Stop. Thinking,” growls Mr. Stark, and Peter’s eyes fly open to look at him, looming above Peter, eyes a stormy mess of want and desire. The words are sharp and clipped and edged in thick desire, his fingers thrusting in time to them. “Stop thinking, and give me what I want.”

Jesus, those words. Peter’s breath stutters and his eyes flutter closed.

Mr. Stark hisses, “I want it, Peter, stop fucking thinking, and just give it to me.” His fingers are savage against Peter’s prostate, lighting up signal flares that stretch from his crotch straight into his eyeballs and they have Peter twisting down, bucking against them, his hands clinging to his cock, thrusting down and pulling up. “Christ,” swears Mr. Stark, “you’re going to make me do it, you lazy little fuck, make me take what’s mine, why won’t you just give it me?”

Peter shakes his head, he can do this, he can- he can- but before he can choke out the words, Mr. Stark’s other hand wraps around his and starts pulling, pushing, directing his touch and it is so much, too much, he almost shouts yellow. Mr. Stark hisses, “Make me do everything, all the work, give me what I want,” and Peter gasps in a breath to  _ say _ yellow, he can’t- he  _ can’t- _ and then Mr. Stark’s voice adds, “my perfect Peter Parker, my favorite toy, my everything right, mine, for me, I’ll take it, you give it, c’mon,  _ gimme _ ,” and Peter can feel the words hit like pounding fist on his gut, and his dick twitches, and then he’s coming again, gasping and groaning and sobbing because it’s too much and it’s only  _ three _ .

“Shh,” soothes Mr. Stark, “Shh, Peter, Shh,” his fingers inside resting calmly, his other hand petting Peter’s hip gently, a slow smooth stroke that is helping Peter focus. When nothing else happens for a moment. Peter opens his eyes to slant a glance up at Mr. Stark.

Mr. Stark is grinning at him, and Peter grins back, even if it’s shaky. “Good toy,” teases Mr. Stark, “I knew you could do three.”

Peter is going to die right here, in a puddle of his own cum, but he’s going to die  _ trying _ , at least, so he whimpers, rocking against Mr. Stark’s hand, “F-four, Mr. S-Stark, said four, I-s-said four,” and watches Mr. Stark’s jaw drop in a delighted laugh. 

“Kid, you are  _ wrecked _ ,” he chuckles, “I swear I thought you were gonna red out there for a sec, don’t, this was just a, I just thought it would be fun.”

Peter smiles up at him, all his nerves stretched tight, muscles trembling, jaw clenched, and pushes back on his fingers and whines, “One more, one more, c’n do it, help me, please, sir?”

“You have eleven minutes,” says Mr. Stark, laughing, disbelieving, but his fingers twitch inside Peter and Peter groans, head falling back.

“S-so blow me,” Peter mumbles, closing his eyes, “B-bet I c’n do four, y’r mouth is so, so hot, sir, bet we can, b-bet-“

Mr. Stark barks out a laugh then, short and astonished and Peter loves it, loves how his fingers are twitching as if against his conscious control, buried deep in Peter and making his nerves report conflicting pain/pleasure signals.

“Fuck, kid,” laughs Mr. Stark, “you’re actively killing me here. Okay, you red out if you have to, Jesus, I’m 1,000% satisfied.”

Peter thrusts up, presses back down against the fingers inside him, lighting his brain on fire, and stammers, “T-tick tock, M-mr. S-stark.”

There’s no pause, Mr. Stark is  _ still laughing _ as he slides his lips around Peter, easing down, chuckling as he wraps Peter in the wet furnace of his mouth. He’s not doing any of his tricks with his tongue, which is good, great, excellent, because this is too fucking much already, Peter is going to  _ die _ . This is beyond stupid, he’s already sobbing, and then Mr. Stark eases up and flicks his tongue at Peter’s slit and he loses all control over his body for a moment.

Mr. Stark growls when Peter’s hips flick up the first time, and he pushes them down with a hand, holding him tight, which would maybe work if Peter could help him at all, but super strength, okay, and he’s not, he’s not really in control right now, but he tries to hold still. He tries so hard, but when Mr. Stark twists his fingers just like that, Peter sobs and thrusts up, he can’t, it’s not his fault, it’s so much, and Mr. Stark, the fucker, doesn’t even choke, he just  _ moves with it _ . Peter can’t process that, can’t think about it, it’s more too-much, but he tries to hold still, hold still while Mr. Stark takes him apart on a subatomic level between his mouth and his fingers. It’s sososo good, and it’s building fast, and then Mr. Stark hollows his cheeks and sucks, really sucks, and fuck,  _ fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,  _ number four hits, and the world goes black.

He has no idea how long he lays there, trembling and shaking with tears rolling down his temples.

He can feel Mr. Stark remove his fingers, and he groans, and Mr. Stark chuckles and says, “Fuck, Peter, just, just lay there a minute, gonna grab a towel. Just, just be good, just, Shh.” He feels the bed shift, and then everything is so fucking still, he can breathe, just breathe.

The bed shifts again, and there’s wet warmth on his stomach, his ass, his thighs, and he knows what’s coming next and he whimpers because  _ nooo, don’t touch it _ . This was the  _ worst _ idea.

Mr. Stark is chuckling again, the bastard, as he gently and delicately swipes Peter clean, and then falls over on the bed laughing as FRIDAY announces, “Time, gentlemen.”

Peter groans, but he also cracks a grin, it’s hard not to, this was  _ so stupid _ . Mr. Stark wraps an arm around his chest, props himself up on his elbow, scoots close and comforting and laughs against Peter’s temple, “Oh my God, you are killing me. The fucking things you will- are you even alive in there?”

“Killin’  _ you?”  _ gasps Peter, eyes opening in a baleful glower that only makes Mr. Stark laugh harder. “‘M dead, s-sir, d-died, f-four’s t’many.”

“Four is like two too many, noted,” teases Mr. Stark. “Fuck, Peter,  _ fuck _ .”

“Noooo,” whines Peter, shifting away from him slightly. “G’way, n’more fuck, ‘m done.”

Mr. Stark presses a kiss to his forehead, laughing, and says, “I agree, you stubborn subby idiot. You are the best thing ever and I’m buying you so many, you’re going to be so spoiled, you were so good, so good for me, fuck, I am  _ telling  _ Pepper what you  _ did _ . Gonna spoil the fuck out of you,” and then he starts laughing again and gasps, “Fuck, Peter, fuck, I can’t believe you, you’re so perfect.”

Peter is feeling two things, plus exhausted. One is smug as fuck, because he did it, he got to four, four in forty minutes, and he’s not sure that should even be physically possible. The other is stupidly in love with the idiot laughing next to him. It’s not, it’s too early, they just started, but he’s lost too many people in his life to worry about the rules regarding it. He thinks of Steve, in the bar, saying “Fuck PR,” and he turns his head and smiles, and kisses Mr. Stark’s laughing lips. They peck lips, trading laughs back and forth like an electron, and then Mr. Stark asks, “You good?”

Peter nods and smiles sleepily as he says, “No moving. Gonna, gonna stay righ’ here.”

“You do that,” chuckles Mr. Stark. He slides out of the bed, still dissolving into quiet laughter at random intervals, and pulls the covers over Peter. When Peter hisses as they slide across his dick, Mr. Stark has to take a second to cover his eyes and snort, clearly struggling over control of his laughter. “You, you are the best toy, the best gift, perfect Peter Parker,” he gasps, leaning over to tuck Peter in, his eyes alight. 

Peter smiles back, and Mr. Stark pecks his lips with a gentle kiss, snorts, and then ruffles his hair, straightening up. “Okay, gonna go, midnight snuggles, but Peter,” Peter opens his eyes, unsure when he closed them, but fuck, they’re so heavy. “You are getting so spoiled, Trouble, tomorrow, you have no idea.”

Peter nods, and lets his eyes drift shut, and he doesn’t hear FRIDAY slide the door open to the suite, or Mr. Stark start chuckling again as he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crap. Now I have to go edit the tags. WHY, MUSES, WHY.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning is Friday, so even before Peter opens his eyes, he knows Mr. Stark has probably been up for hours. He probably got up with Pepper, and has already had his first few cups of coffee, and Pepper’s probably gone downstairs to her office, and Peter really needs coffee before facing a Mr. Stark who’s up and awake this morning.

He slides on a pair of purple fuzzy Hawkeye pants and skims on a Black Widow t-shirt, in pink. It reminds him of Eddie and he shakes his head. He stumbles out onto the landing and begins the short trek to the kitchen. 

When he gets there, he pauses, because it’s not empty, and he still hasn’t had coffee, and he’s kind of hoping Pepper understands how that works. She looks up at him and snorts into her coffee and says, “Peter, good morning,” and her eyes are twinkling at him. That’s, that’s too much for this morning, so he goes to grab himself a coffee.   
  
He slides onto a stool at the breakfast bar across from Ms. Potts, with her suit dress and her hair and her flawless make-up. He hunches into his coffee. He has no idea what time it is, but he resents that she’s tackling the day and he’s literally three yawns away from falling asleep again. Well, three yawns and a bed. 

By the time he’s done with his coffee, he realizes he’s a little hungry. No, he’s a  _ lot _ hungry. Ms. Potts looks at him and slides him half of her muffin. He accepts because he’s not crazy, this is food he doesn’t have to stand up to get, and her smile flits at him before she frowns at her tablet again.

When the muffin is gone, he decides he has the energy to make it to the fridge. He pulls open the door, just as Mr. Stark shouts from the entry hallway, “I got omelettes, Pep, Peter, omelettes and croissants!”   
  
Pepper makes a pleased noise and sets her tablet aside, lifting her coffee to her lips again.

Mr. Stark enters with two sacks of food, and Pepper helps him open the containers, sliding one across to Peter with a wry smile. Inside is a massive amount of eggs and other stuff, if it was a pizza it would be a supreme, and it smells delicious. Peter considers picking it up and eating it with his hands.    
  
“Oh, God, stop, no,” complains Mr. Stark, walking over to the counter and grabbing three forks, “I get that you’re probably sugar shocked and stupid, remind me to feed you before letting you collapse next time-” Pepper snorts again, this time just before taking a bite of a croissant, but Peter doesn’t really care because he’s being handed a fork and that means he can eat the eggs. His mouth is salivating for them. “-but no,” finishes Mr. Stark. He takes the stool beside Peter and bumps elbows with him as they eat. The elbow bumping turns into thigh tapping, and then Peter hooks an ankle around Mr. Stark’s because the man seems to need touch right now, and Peter really needs to be able to eat.   
  
Peter sucks down some more coffee, starting to feel almost normal, and Pepper slides him another container full of eggs with a hopeful look. He nods, and reaches for a croissant, and after one bite, eats the whole thing in seconds. It’s so damn good. 

The next omelette has less stuff in it, it’s just ham and cheese, but it’s also really good. Food is amazing. Peter feels human. He takes another sip of his coffee and hums in delight.   
  
“There ya go,” says Mr. Stark, chewing on a bite of croissant. “Sorry, I really will remember next time.” 

Peter shrugs, and sips, and croaks, “G’morning, Ms. Potts, Mr. Stark.”

“Good morning, Peter,” says Pepper, her voice fond and teasing at the same time. “I hear we’re going to spoil you today. I’ve been setting up an account to fund it.”

Peter turns to look at Mr. Stark, and says, “That’s… that’s a little extreme, sir.” 

Mr. Stark hunches his shoulders and says, “What, it’s just, we just moved some cash flow. It’s my money.” He bites into a forkful of egg with unnecessary force and doesn’t look at either one of them.    
  
Pepper smiles at Peter and says, “I’ll try to keep it from getting ridiculously high, but you’re going to have to help me and be less perfect. ‘Tick-tock, Mr. Stark?’  _ I  _ want to buy you a diamond necklace, and I wasn’t even  _ there _ .”   
  
Peter almost spits out his omelette and whirls to bat Mr. Stark on the arm, “You told her?”

“Of course I told her,” laughs Mr. Stark, “I’m so fucking proud, and who else- there is literally no one else I can tell, and I’m so proud, I just, it was so fucking, you’re just fucking amazing, you’re lucky she declined to watch the  _ video _ .” 

“Major bad manners,” Pepper says, her eyes alight and amused. 

Peter sets his coffee cup down and says to the room at large, “Oh my God, I just realized this is going to be my whole life now.”

“Yup,” says Pepper. “Go ahead and take a moment with that one. It’s a doozy.”

“What?” asks Mr. Stark, a little baffled.

“He has no clue,” Pepper tells Peter. “Eventually, you’ll think it’s adorable.”

“No clue about what?” asks Mr. Stark, savaging a croissant. Even though their ankles are still hooked together, one of his hands creeps over to rest on Peter’s thigh, like, however much he's touching Peter, it's not enough. Well, at least he's not interfering with Peter's eating.

“Oh my God,” Peter says to Pepper. 

She smiles back at him, serene. “I’m so glad to have someone else to share this with, this moment, it’s so nice. His boundaries are just so messed up. Most people can’t stand it, and then there’s us.”

Peter nods, but only to drive Mr. Stark a little insane.

“What, I’m not, what’s wrong with my boundaries?” asks Mr. Stark, sounding a little uncertain. His hand on Peter’s thigh clutches a little.

“Nothing,” Pepper assures him. “They’re super healthy. We’re all very proud.”

Mr. Stark eyes her with suspicion. 

“So, back to spoiling Peter,” says Pepper, taking a sip of her coffee with a twinkle in her eye.

Mr. Stark’s eyes gleam as he turns to Peter and says, “I get what I want. Rule number one, I get what I want, you let me buy you stuff today, I can take you anywhere, and you have to give me what I want.”

Peter considers his coffee for a moment, leaving Mr. Stark hanging. He’s going to say yes, he can’t actually tell Tony no when he’s all electrified and sparkly and clearly looking forward to the day, but this is fun, too. “One condition,” he suggests.

Mr. Stark leans back, eyes suddenly sharp and hooded. “Hm. Maybe,” he concedes, and there’s a playful quirk to his lips, which means he understands Peter is playing, too. “Depends.”

“Only good blushes,” says Peter quickly. Hey, it covers a lot of territory, and it’s worth a shot.

“What? What?! I love all your blushes, and I can only have half?!” Mr. Stark looks great when he’s faking outrage, and Peter enjoys watching him over the rim of his cup as he takes a sip.

“Half or no deal,” Peter says. Which isn’t true, he’s completely bluffing, but it’s fun to watch Mr. Stark’s jaw drop.

“What- you can’t- I am  _ in charge _ here, you are- this is a direct threat to my authority!” Mr. Stark shakes his finger at Peter and Peter snorts into his coffee and rolls his eyes at Pepper.

“And then you roll your eyes?” gasps Mr. Stark. “After I told Kevin just last night that you were perfect, you roll your eyes at my authority?”

“Tick-tock, Mr. Stark, you’re wasting all this time you could be spoiling me,” Peter tells him, widening his eyes to make them look innocent and earnest.

Tony bursts into laughter and grabs Peter’s face and kisses him. He says, “How quickly they grow, where’s the ‘oh no, am I a kept boy’ from last night?”

“Four times in forty minutes,” Peter says gravely. Pepper snorts and then shoots him an apologetic glance, her lips twisted into a wry smile again. “And you forgot to feed me. I have earned being a spoiled kept Stark Intern for a day.”

“Oh, dear,” murmurs Ms. Potts. “Mr. Stark, I do believe you’ve met your match. Better give in.”   
  
“Half of my  _ blushes _ ,” mourns Mr. Stark, biting into a croissant savagely. “Deal,” he mumbles.

“So, where are we going?” says Peter. Mr. Stark’s eyes get a gleam in them, and Peter is suddenly terrified the man is going to announce something like  _ France _ or  _ London. _   
  
“Shopping,” says Mr. Stark, with relish. Pepper snorts again, and says to Peter, “He’s requested I come along, probably so he can attempt to spoil me, as well, but the story he gave me was he wants my opinion on accessories.”

“You’re the one who has problems with a collar, he was  _ fine _ with the idea,” responds Mr. Stark.   
  
“Fine’s a little strong,” Peter interjects, but he already knows neither one of them is going to listen to him, so he focuses on his croissant. It’s  _ still warm _ .

“He was not,” says Pepper, “he’s not the collar type, at least not out in public like that.” She eyes Peter speculatively, and he can feel the blush start. “Besides, what a PR headache. Necklaces. Tasteful necklaces. Diamonds.”

“Oh, you did that on purpose,” mutters Mr. Stark, tracing the leading edge of the blush around the collar of Peter’s shirt with one finger, gently stroking up over his ear. “Just because I can’t.”   
  
Pepper smiles smugly into her coffee. 

“No tattoos,” says Peter suddenly. He just thought of it now, and he wants it on the table.

“What?” laughs Mr. Stark. 

“I don’t know, it’s a good boundary,” muses Pepper. “You do have a history of getting a little carried away on Spoil Pepper days.”

“I don’t think I can force someone to get tattooed,” Mr. Stark tells her. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, and you specifically told me I couldn’t do anything illegal this fiscal year.”

“I get to pick out my own clothes,” interjects Peter, because so far he’s two for two and it’s worth a try.

“No,” they tell him in unison with equal expressions of horror.  _ Well, hell. _ At least he tried.

“Easy access, though,” stipulates Mr. Stark, the hand on Peter’s thigh sliding up just slightly. Peter blushes, but it’s a good blush, so he allows it unchecked. Pepper purses her lips and concedes, “Okay, I can do that.”

“So we’ve established you get what you want,” Peter says, “and we’ve established you’re taking me shopping, which is probably not what I want, so what part of this will be spoiling me?”

“Wait and see,” advises Mr. Stark with a laugh and a smile that is perilously close to a leer. “You’ve never been shopping with me before.”

“Oh my god you’re going to have sex with me in a dressing room,” accuses Peter. He’s not against the idea, and some of that okay-with-it must slip into his tone because Mr. Stark’s eyes drop down to his lips and he can’t help it, he physically can’t help it, he licks them.

Ms. Potts snorts. “Peter, I sold  _ stocks _ to build that account, we’re not going any place that has  _ dressing rooms _ .”

“Maybe one,” offers Mr. Stark, who hasn’t lifted his eyes from Peter’s lips. “It’s Spoil Peter day, and you heard what he said. About the dressing rooms. And the sex.”

Ms. Potts laughs and says, “No dressing room sex today. It’s rude to leave me holding the purse on the awkward plastic waiting chairs while you molest your latest toy.”

Peter looks over at her and says, just for clarification, “No dressing room sex ever, though, with you waiting, that’s what you mean, right?”

Ms. Potts takes a long sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of her cup, and says nothing. Peter swallows convulsively. “Uh-h, when does this all kick off?” he asks, his voice just slightly higher than usual.

Mr. Stark unwinds their legs and lifts his hand from Peter’s thigh and says, “Now. Let’s go, pitter patter Peter Parker. Drink, Pep, chug-a-lug, let’s go, I need to buy Peter outrageous things and introduce him to expensive people. And the other way around. Up, up,” he gestures impatiently, as she continues to tap at her tablet and blatantly ignores him.

After a half a second, she murmurs, “Oh, go get him dressed, the blue Dyondo and the, um, the gray slacks. No coat, you wear yours. Yeah, that’ll work. Wish he could go barefoot for you, what a scene. Be done clearing my plate in fifteen.”

“What’s a blue Dyondo?” asks Peter, as Mr. Stark grabs the neckline of his t-shirt in the back and begins to tug him up the penthouse stairs.

“Less talking, more obeying,” teases Mr. Stark. It’s harder to follow Mr. Stark with this grip than last night’s grip on his tie, thinks Peter. Maybe he could get Mr. Stark to grab the front? It’d probably be better in the front.   
  
“Can I put a tie on him?” Mr. Stark shouts down to Pepper when they’re halfway up.   
  
“No!” she shouts back, “Keep the top two unbuttoned to show off the necklace you’re going to get him!”   
  
“Got it!” replies Mr. Stark, and then he’s hauling Peter into their bedroom.

~~~

It turns out the blue Dyondo is a tightly tailored deep blue shirt with an abstract pattern down the left side picked out in black hand embroidery. It fits Peter like it was made for him, and Mr. Stark has a strange smile on his face as he slides into his own much less ostentatious black suit with white shirt. Mr. Stark digs through Peter’s closet and finds a pair of gray slacks that fit tight across Peter’s ass and have no belt loops. He makes Peter wear a pair of charcoal loafers, probably handcrafted by elves in Italy. 

Everything about Mr. Stark’s outfit screams, “I am made of money and too busy for you,” and everything about Peter’s says, “Someone else paid for this.” Mr. Stark stands them in front of the full-length mirror in Peter’s bathroom and says in a tone of smug satisfaction, “Yes. I get what I want.” Peter stares at Mr. Stark’s dark eyes in the mirror, caught, and nods.

“You wear that watch,” Mr. Stark says, nodding at the one he’d given Peter the night before. “That’s yours.”    
  
Peter reaches over to slip it on, but has trouble with the catch. Mr. Stark shifts to show him how to seal it again, all the fancy electronics in the band clicking together at just the right angle.   
  
It’s not sized for Peter, it’s slightly too big, it slides up his forearm, and Mr. Stark plays with that for a moment, sliding it up and then back down to his wrist, and then catches Peter’s eye and says, slowly, “Little big, yet.” Peter nods, he can’t find words right now, but so far the day’s been going pretty good, and if Mr. Stark just keeps looking at him like that, it’s… well, it’s just going to keep going good.

“Yeah, kid, I love it, too,” says Mr. Stark, like he can’t help it. “I’m a sick fuck, absolute monster, but I fucking love it. I’ll love it, if you’re still, if you still want- this, when we can trade clothes, I’ll love that, too, but I love it like this, too. I love that I get you like this, too.”

Peter nods, and lifts his chin, parting his lips, and then Mr. Stark is turning him and they’re kissing, so slow and smooth and sweet. Mr. Stark isn’t a monster, he isn’t a sick fuck, he’s just perfect, just so perfectly what Peter wants right now.

Pepper clears her throat from the doorway and says, “Gentlemen, the car is ready.”

They don’t have to startle apart. They’re in his rooms in Stark Tower, and it’s just Pepper, so they stop the kiss, slowly, two more pecks to lips, and then Mr. Stark is tucking Peter under his arm and guiding him out of the room, gathering up Pepper with his other arm on the way.


	6. Chapter 6

Happy pulls the car, which is a limo because of course it is, up to a small sleek building tucked into all the skyscrapers surrounding it and with no signs announcing its presence or purpose.

Mr. Stark exits, and hands Ms. Potts up and out of the car with panache, and they walk together towards the entrance, Peter following just a step behind and feeling… odd. As if he’s a toy or a pet they’ve got trained to heel. As the door opens for them, Mr. Stark turns to smirk at Peter and teases, “Heel, boy,” and Peter realizes the impression was  _ deliberate _ . It’s a relief,  _ they didn’t forget him _ , but it also leaves him reeling a little as they enter the cool darkness of the building.

“Tony, Pepper, what a delight,” coos a drippy voice from the shadows. “And who have you brought, is that, is that  _ America’s Sweetheart?” _

Peter chokes, and Mr. Stark slots him a glare that he can read easily, even in this dim light-  _ manners, Peter-  _ but Ms. Potts rescues the situation by saying, “Well, yes, Angelica, it’s Peter Parker, and we’ve brought him to show him your fall collection and see if there’s a piece or two he connects with.”

“Oh how sweet,” sighs the voice, and as they move into the next room, the lighting improves and Peter can see the woman who’s been talking. She wears a sweater and jeans, but she wears them like she has so much money she could visit the President in them and no one would say she was underdressed. She’s tiny, with a face that can’t be unsculpted, it’s too perfectly symmetrical. “But you know, Pepper, I’m quite mad at you, I haven’t received my invitation to the wedding, and I’m not sure I want to be nice and show you my latest.” The woman gives Pepper a sly side-eye as she guides them down a grey hallway and into another grey alcove, where she unlocks a door with her palm print and waves them into an elevator.

“Invitations haven’t been sent,” Pepper assures her easily. “They’re at the engraver’s now, I could request one hand-delivered on rush today if you need more than my word. I promised Mr. Stark he could pick out something for Peter from your fall collection, and I would hate to have to take him to Diana’s.”

They both make matching faces of disgust at the name, and Angelica titters, “No, that’s fine, I’ll be patient, as long as I know it’s coming.”

“It is,” assures Pepper, as the doors slide open on a room filled with displays of jewelry. There’s no cases anywhere, and there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the display. It looks jumbled, there’s so many gems, it’s a little overwhelming to Peter, but Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts and Angelica all glide smoothly through the morass.

“Peter,” chides Mr. Stark, and Peter startles. “Keep up.”

He wasn’t lagging more than two steps behind, so Peter glances at Mr. Stark in confusion, but steps forward, closer, and then waits to see if that’s what Mr. Stark wanted. Angelica arches a brow and murmurs, “Oh that explains  _ so very much _ , thank you Tony, yes, my fall collection will be perfect. Pepper, you have such an  _ eye _ , you really must tell me how you collect such interesting gems to your orbit.”

Ms. Potts smiles pleasantly and pats Tony on the arm and says, “Behave.”

Angelica coos, “Delicious!” and opens another door to another grey room with too much sparkle in every direction.

Angelica whirls and grabs Peter’s arm, twitching him to the center of the room, and then walks around him, head tilted and considering him as if he presents a challenge. “Links, of course,” she says, “Three sets, Tony, I do believe you’ll walk from here with three, I can picture clearly the ones you’ll want. No collars, nothing like that, he’s so delicate, it’s so new, but… mmm… necklaces, subtle, understated. He’s unpierced?”

_ He _ is standing right here, thank you. “No piercings,” Peter says clearly, before either of them can speak for him like he can’t talk for himself. 

She frowns and says, “Mm. Shame. Consider it, dear, you’d look great in my midnight collection.” 

Pepper makes a slight noise and presses her fingertips to her lips and says, “You behave, too, Ms. Peridot.”

“Naughty is a behavior,” Mr. Stark says, holding up a thick gold choker-style necklace with red stones he found somewhere and announcing, “this one.”

“Oh God, Tony, be serious,” scoffs Angelica. “He’s not built to support that choker, you’d need him in  _ ball gowns _ .”

Pepper hums and says, “Well, you can get it, Tony, but strictly for playtime.”

Peter thinks about wearing the thick choker, gold and red, and nothing else for Mr. Stark, and feels his skin light up.

“That’s the spirit,” murmurs Mr. Stark, glancing at him with dark bedroom eyes. “I told you, you’ll like shopping with me.” His smile is wolfish as he drops the choker into his pocket. 

Angelica smiles indulgently at him for a moment and then says, “But daywear, Mr. Parker-“

“Call him Peter,” suggests Mr. Stark. Peter is standing  _ right here _ , he can manage his own labels, but whatever, he doesn’t  _ object _ to Angelica calling him Peter. Mr. Stark, who can always read Peter’s mind, tosses him a grin that Peter interprets as,  _ good boy,  _ and he feels himself flushing again.

“Peter, then,” she agrees, slowly, like she can read that interplay between them and finds it delightful. “But for daily wear, that’s too much. Too loud. You’ll want to wear gems quiet enough to whisper this, for those who are discreet enough to know. Come here, you’ll need something with red, Tony will love seeing red, or diamonds, he’ll like that too, come here,” and she gestures at one of the glittering trees draped in strands of gold. 

Peter stares at it, as Mr. Stark and Pepper wander off together to look through the rest of the collection. It just looks like a bunch of necklaces, each one with different types of red stones. Is he supposed to pick one? He glances at Angelica.

“Ahh, you need more guidance?” She offers quietly. “And are smart enough to look for expertise to guide you, that speaks so well for you. Length of 20- no, for you, for this, maybe 22. Just a hint, here, with the top two buttons undone-“ and she presses a finger to wear Peter’s shirt rests open. “But no more. Mr. Stark is a private man, and Ms. Potts is his public partner. This, this, or this-“ she plucks necklaces from the tree. One is a simple gold chain with a single red pendant, the setting shape reminding Peter of Tony’s arc reactor. One is a thicker wind of gold, dotted every four inches by a huge red stone, and Peter hates it immediately. And the last is a collection of random loops with red gems caught in cages of loops at random intervals. It’s interesting, but a little flashy. He looks at the pendant again.

“You  _ are _ smitten,” she coos at him, because apparently it’s read-Peter’s-mind day, too. “Yes, of course, perfect, it’s delightful, what a precious metaphor.” She slides the other two back onto the twisted display and lifts the simple chain and says loudly, “Tony, he’s found the first one already, what a perfect eye!”

Mr. Stark moves to join them, unhurried but not wasting any time, either. Pepper trails behind, her fingers rifling through the trees, sighing audibly. 

“Ooh, put it on him, I want to see,” commands Angelica, slipping Mr. Stark the necklace.

“Are you sure not the collar?” grunts Mr. Stark, figuring out the clasp with nimble fingers, and both Peter and Pepper respond, “Behave,” although their tones are very different.

Mr. Stark looks at Peter from under his lashes, bent slightly over the necklace to undo the clasp and asks, quietly, “You like it?”

Peter nods.

“You want to wear it, Trouble? This necklace, just for me?” Mr. Stark is teasing, but there’s a steady thrum under the teasing that’s anything but play. Peter’s mouth goes dry and he doesn’t trust his voice anymore, so he nods again.

“Words, Peter,” chides Mr. Stark.

Peter startles and stammers, “Yes, sir.” He can feel a blush creep up his neck and prays the Angelica woman doesn’t  _ coo _ again.

Tony lifts his arms and guides the necklace over Peter’s shoulders, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck. He’s not moving any slower than his usual efficient motions, but for some reason the intimacy of the gesture has Peter’s breathing all strange. He feels a little dizzy, and that’s so weird and stupid, but he can’t make himself scowl, either.

Mr. Stark does the clasp, and then doesn’t drop the necklace, but tucks it with careful fingers under the collar of Peter’s shirt, slowly, caressing the skin and giving Peter goosebumps. When he gets to the front, he keeps going, fingers carefully pushing the shirt open to press the necklace to the skin there, too. The pendant dips just below the first closed button of the shirt, and Mr. Stark taps it with one finger, his lips quirked into a strange smile Peter doesn’t recognize.

“You picked it, or her,” asks Mr. Stark, glancing up at Peter. Peter keeps himself as open and readable as possible as he replies, “Me.”

“Perfect Peter Parker,” whispers Mr. Stark, and the sound of those syllables builds a bubble around them that makes Peter forget the rest of the world for a moment.

Mr. Stark taps the pendant again, and then sighs, and Peter can feel the tension between them ease as he pulls his hand back and puts them both in his pants pocket and says, “For God’s sake Pepper, look what he picked. Look what Angelica designed, you naughty minx, and then he picked it.”

Pepper glides forward, her lips already curving in a wry grin. She tugs down Peter’s shirt and then giggles up at him. “Oh dear. Angelica, you really are the best.”

“I  _ designed _ it for  _ you _ ,” sniffs Angelica, “but it really does look better on him. Not my most subtle work, but perfect length, especially if you keep him in Dyondo, and you should, he’s perfect for that entire line, Dyondo will weep when he sees the first tabloids from today.”

“I agree,” laughs Pepper. “I approve.”

“Do I get a say?” asks Peter, plaintively. It’s not that he objects to the shirt, but he likes t-shirts, okay? And hoodies. You can _hide_ in a hoodie.

The other three answer as one, “No.”

“Some day of spoiling,” huffs Peter, but his heart isn’t in it and his hand creeps up to touch the pendant that rests just under his shirt.

“You love it,” declares Mr. Stark, and then says, “Ok, educate him about cuff links, I don’t have the patience, Pepper, help me with watches, apparently he needs another one, one that’s dripping with diamonds.”

Angelica smiles at Peter and takes him over to another display, where he learns a lot about clasp and size and color and picks out two pair for Mr. Stark, one of which matches a pair of earrings for Ms. Potts (“ _ Ooo, clever,”  _ Angelica had cooed). Mr. Stark and Pepper bring by three watches, and slip them on Peter’s other wrist, and argue about face styles, until Angelica offers to swap the face style of the bigger one onto the thinner one and send it over to the Tower the following week. 

“I can resize this one, too,” she says, tapping the one he walked in with. Peter clutches it with his opposite hand and says, very firmly, “No thank you, ma’am.” He doesn’t look at Mr. Stark when he says it, but the man leans in and kisses his temple and says, “No thank you, indeed,” in a voice that’s just a little bit rough.

They’ve been in the building maybe forty five minutes and Tony and Pepper have approved four pairs of cuff links for Peter and another necklace for Pepper to match the earrings Peter picked out, when Pepper’s watch chimes and she says, “Oh! Happy’s here! Onto our next stop, thank you so much, Angelica!”

~~~

On their way out, Mr. Stark makes a pained noise and stumbles, stopping in front of a display of gaudy green necklaces.

“Oh, damn,” hisses Angelica. “It’s been so long, I forgot.”

Mr. Stark touches one of the thicker bands, inset with flinty green stones, and says, “He needed the money?” and his voice sounds pained.

“No,” says Angelica, voice thick with regret and… pity, Peter suspects. “He didn’t sell it, he just… didn’t want it anymore and didn’t want to hurt you by giving it back. And now I’ve hurt you, damn, I’m sorry, Tony, I’ll put it in the vault, I forgot, truly, all these years, and it is such a pretty piece.”

Tony waves this away.

“He’s doing well,” Angelica says, and it’s the first awkward thing that Peter has heard her say.

“In Chicago,” Mr. Stark responds bitterly. Ms. Potts wraps her arm around his, giving comfort for a hurt Peter can only guess at. He slides forward, into Mr. Stark’s orbit, and tries to radiate comfort, too.

“Well, sharing a city with you, even one as big as New York, was bound to be hard,” Angelica says. 

Mr. Stark sighs and says, “Sell it. Better luck to the next owner.”

“Better luck to the next  _ buyer,”  _ sniffs Angelica, which makes Pepper snort and Tony grin wryly.  He gives the necklace a flick with his finger and turns to smile at Peter, and says, “Besides, Christmas came early this year.”

Peter can feel the blush slide up his cheeks and the weight of the necklace is weirdly heavy on his neck.

Angelica coos, “Oh, you two!” and the tense mood around them is completely shattered. “Can he dance?”

Pepper says, “You mean you missed that video?” before Peter can do more than open his mouth to reply.

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” exclaims Angelica brightly, “Peter, please save me a dance at the Charity Ball next month, you have to bring him Tony, you’ll all three wear your matching set, please, just to please me?”

Ms. Potts says, “Done,” while Tony groans, “But I was gonna skip this year, Pep.”

“You were not,” she scolds him. “Peter’s going to wear  _ black-tie _ .”

“Oh!” Mr. Stark says, and then he grins at Peter and says, “I’ll help you tie it.” 

Peter flushes again, and shifts, and tells Angelica, “It would be my pleasure.” It’s a line from an old black and white movie and he’s not surprised to find it makes Angelica twitter at him.   
  
“Sweet, so sweet, get out of my shop,” she declares with a wide smile. “I am going to eat you with a  _ spoon _ . How  _ do  _ you find them, Pepper Potts? I’ll send the set when I’m done with it. I know it’s close, but I’ll want it to be perfect.”   
  
Pepper and Mr. Stark and Peter walk to the elevator unaccompanied, and Mr. Stark pushes the button for the first floor, and then turns to Peter with dark eyes and says, “You’re wearing my necklace.”

“Yes, sir,” says Peter, helpless to say anything else as Mr. Stark invades his personal space and runs a finger down the line of Peter’s collar to expose the necklace to light.

“He would have worn a collar,” Mr. Stark comments, tracing one finger along the chain, dipping down to touch the pendant and back up the other side. Peter concentrates on breathing in and out and keeping his knees from locking.

“He would have,” agrees Pepper, and Peter finds he can’t correct her. He  _ would _ have. “But this is better.”   
  
Peter nods agreement. Mr. Stark says, “Yeah,” and give Peter a chaste kiss on the lips, pulling back to stand by Ms. Potts a second before the door opens.   
  
The couple steps forward into the hallway and Peter trails behind them just a step or two, the necklace shifting against his skin with every step and every breath. Eventually he’ll get used to it, he knows. But for now, he just enjoys the newness.

~~~

Their next stop is a bakery, where Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts greet the owners by name and are handed several plates full of quiche and macaroons and spanakopita and baklava. It’s eclectic and fun and delicious, and Peter eats slightly more than half, but Ms. Potts and Mr. Stark smile indulgently. Then they walk up the block to a black door in a building, and again, they don’t knock before the door is opened for them and they’re guided up the stairs by a young woman dressed all in black.

The lobby of this place is done in black leather and metal, and there’s nothing particularly soft about any of it. “Tone!” calls a deep male voice, and then, “And Pep! So good to have you back in our neighborhood, did you stop at Sticky Fingers?”   
  
“Yes,” laughs Pepper, hugging the gigantic man who enters the room, muscles bulging, and giggling when he sweeps her off of her feet and plants a kiss on her cheek. “How could we not? It’s been ages, we were just glad they stayed open for us.”   
  
“Well, they did mention you call them for deliveries regularly,” the man says, shaking Mr. Stark’s hand and then saying, “And who are you bringing with you today?”   
  
Peter shakes himself and sticks out his hand and says, “Peter Parker, sir.” His hand is engulfed by the man’s hand, and he’s grateful both for super strength and healing factor, because otherwise he’d be intimidated. He’s totally not, though, until the man says, “Ooh, and is he collared, too? Tony, you dog, you find all the best gems, how in the world-”

“ _ He _ kissed  _ me _ , Marcus,” protests Mr. Stark, hands up. “I did nothing. I was on my best behavior.”   
  
“Really,” drawls the man. He lifts an eyebrow at Ms. Potts, who says, “He really did try, anyway. Peter just knows what he wants.”

Peter feels himself flush, there’s been a lot of blushing today for a day where he specifically said only good blushes, but then again, they’ve only been good blushes, so what the hell.

“Well, you picked a good one,” Marcus tells him confidently. “Now, let’s go get you boys set up with some toys.” Mr. Stark practically skips behind Marcus as he turns to guide them down a hallway.   
  
“T-toys?” Peter asks Pepper, and she smiles brightly at him.   
  
“Toys, Peter Parker. An absolute must, you’ll see, it’ll be fun. I won’t let him buy anything you’re uncomfortable with, I promise.” Peter nods and figures he should resign himself to just being beet red all day. Is this a  _ sex toy shop _ ?

They enter a room filled with cabinets and drawers, all black and chrome, and yep, it’s a sex toy shop. “Handcrafted,” Mr. Stark murmurs. “Nothing out of a box, you’ll see. Marcus is amazing, everyone comes to him, best suppliers, real craftsmanship.”

“Plus the experience,” Pepper says confidently. “Marcus can explain everything and if necessary, he’s got a pair of exhibitionists who love to show how it all works.”   
  
Peter feels like his skin is way too tight. “Oh,” he squeaks, and Mr. Stark grabs him in for a hug, tucking Peter’s head into the crook of his shoulder. “Relax, Peter,” he chuckles, ruffling Peter’s hair. “We won’t go crazy. We can come back and go crazy when you want to. This is just for spoiling you, I promise.”

“Oh,” says Peter, peering out at the cabinets and drawers from inside Mr. Stark’s embrace.   
  
“C’mere,” says Pepper, gesturing to a black leather couch at the opposite end of the room. It’s oddly shaped and Peter suspects it may have a  _ purpose _ . “Come sit here, in between us, and we’ll have Marcus and his crew bring us over toys and talk to us and I promise, Peter, we’ll protect you from the scary vibrators and the whips and chains.”   
  
Peter rolls his eyes, but waits for Mr. Stark to release him and tug him over to the couch. He’s hesitating but not unwilling, and his eyes fly over all of the displays in the cabinets and he knows he’s blushing again. That’s… that’s a lot of different things.   
  
Marcus states, “Okay, he is precious, I want three, where did you  _ find _ him?”

“ _ He _ kissed  _ me _ ,” repeats Mr. Stark. Peter nods confirmation while also resting his cheek against Mr. Stark’s shoulder and trying to tuck himself behind and under Mr. Stark’s arm.

“Three of them, I want three,” says Marcus.   
  
“This one’s all mine,” growls Mr. Stark. “Bring over the glass ones, I bet he likes them.”

“Tony, you have to start small,” laughs Pepper. “You’re going to terrify him into thinking you want this.”   
  
“I do want this,” replies Mr. Stark, confused.

“No, I mean, that he has to give you this,” explains Pepper.   
  
“He does. I get what I want, that’s the rule,” says Mr. Stark, spreading his hands wide in innocence. “Right, Trouble?”   
  
Peter sighs and rubs his cheek on Mr. Stark’s shoulder, and says, “That’s the rule.”

“See?” asks Mr. Stark. “He’s a good boy, he’ll loosen up, bring me the glass ones.”   
  
Marcus has a twinkle in his eye as he brings over a drawer display of ten or so glass dildos, different sizes and shapes.    
  
Mr. Stark grabs the one that is clear with swirls of gold and red and holds it out for Peter to take. Peter sighs and says, “Am- Am I supposed to like, make comments on the craftsmanship, because I don’t- this is the first one I’ve ever held and I’m going to be such a bad judge of that, Mr. Stark.”

Marcus and Pepper laugh, and Mr. Stark says, “No, just, you know, do you like it as a general concept?”   
  
“Will it break?” asks Peter doubtfully. It feels pretty solid.   
  
“Not the way we’re going to use it, I promise,” says Mr. Stark.   
  
“It’s in your colors,” says Peter, considering it seriously, because Mr. Stark does, in fact, get what he wants, that is the deal, and he’s not actively trying to make Peter dissolve into a puddle of bad blush. No, Peter’s making that happen all on his own,  _ dammit.  _ “And it’s, like, it’s not too big. And smooth, so it’ll glide, I guess. But it’s cold.”

“We can warm it up,” Mr. Stark says confidently. “Do you like it?”

“As opposed to what?” asks Peter. He has literally no frame of reference here. It’s shaped like a cock, which is just, it’s like a weird mushroom-snake shape, and the swirls of color are pretty, but what does Mr. Stark want from him? It’s not a work of art, it’s a  _ dildo _ .

“The rest of them,” says Mr. Stark, and waves a hand at the display drawer. Peter looks at the rest of them, eyes stuttering over the huge ones, and then says, “Red is my color, too.”

Mr. Stark says, “Good. So put that in our basket.”   
  
Marcus is enjoying this, Peter can tell, and he feels a little resentful. But in the end, this is all Peter’s fault because he should have made it clear that his idea of being spoiled is being taken to some really awesome science exhibits, followed by ice cream. He only has himself to blame. He hunches into Mr. Stark and rubs his face on the man’s shoulder. Well. He can get through this, it’s just sex toys.

Marcus says, slowly, “I love the jump-in attitude, Tony, but I’m stopping you now, and we’re going to reset. Hi, Peter.”   
  
Peter glares at him from behind Mr. Stark’s bicep and says, “Hi, Marcus.”

“I run a sex toy shop, Peter.” Marcus’s eyes are twinkling but kind.

Fine, two can play this stupid game. “I’m a superhero, Marcus.” Mr. Stark elbows him and he says, “What?!”   
  
“Quit sulking, you are dangerously close to temper tantrum territory and you would not believe what Marcus has in stock that he can lend me.”   
  
Peter actively tries to do better, because from the way Marcus’s smile broadens, it’s a credible threat. “Hi, Marcus, I’m here to, I guess, buy sex toys, so that’s convenient.”

Mr. Stark clears his throat so Peter tries again, “I’m being spoiled against my will. Please help me.” Mr. Stark shifts but doesn’t immediately haul Peter over his lap so he figures the lost and anxious tone in the second sentence saved him.

“You’re very welcome here, Peter,” Marcus assures him. “We love new customers. Why don’t we chat about the things you already like to do and we’ll figure out what the best accessories are?”

Oh. Accessories. Peter can get behind  _ accessories _ . He touches his necklace and then says, “We don’t- I haven’t much.” He sighs and meets Marcus’s eyes again and says, “I do like sex,” just to establish a  _ baseline _ .

“That’s really good, Peter,” says Marcus seriously. “We get some people in here who don’t like sex, or are having problems with sex. If you’re having any problems with the sex you’re having, you can tell me and I’ll help you figure out what accessories can help with that.”

_ Oh _ . Oh. “Uh, it’s-” he looks up at Mr. Stark, who looks down at him and raises an eyebrow. “It’s not a problem, it’s a  _ feature _ , but, uh, sometimes-I-can-cum-real-fast and are there- I mean-” he literally doesn’t know how to ask what he wants to ask. He runs out of words and just gestures a circle, which makes literally no sense. This is exactly why he doesn’t go to sex shops. This right here.

“Oh yes,” says Marcus easily, “that’s one we’ve got  _ down. _ There’s lots of things to try, but you know what I think you and Tony would like to try  _ first _ ? There’s these things, they’re called cockrings, they are amazing. They come in all shapes and sizes and colors and can be really elaborate or really simple, why don’t you come with me and we’ll go take a look? Tony can pick some out for you, too, but you should have at least one that you like because you like it.” Peter nods, he completely agrees. Marcus holds out his hand and Peter lets himself get drawn up and led away across the room where Marcus flings open several drawers and talks about the contents therein. Peter hears Pepper and Mr. Stark get up from the couch and start digging through cabinets, and two assistants enter to start collecting items and answer questions while Marcus is busy talking to Peter. Within minutes, Peter has three picked out to try- and he’s not feeling guilty at all because _ four orgasms in forty minutes _ for the  _ richest man in the world. _

Mr. Stark wanders over and wraps an arm around Peter’s waist and rests his chin on Peter’s shoulder. It’s a gesture that’s already familiar and feels so good. “Oooh,” he says, “I like that one.”

“Yeah,” says Peter. It’s red- no surprise, red is their color- and thin. Some of the rings are monstrous, there’s even  _ cages _ , but the three Peter has picked out are small, and flexible, because he doesn’t know his size. Marcus says when he knows his size, he can try out the other types. Peter hasn’t thought about that too hard, but he definitely bookmarked it to complain to Ned about. “It, look, there’s beads, they’re supposed to help with the-” Mr. Stark nips at his neck. 

“Oh, you probably know all that,” says Peter, because what the heck was he thinking?   
  
“And I really need you to stop saying it,” agrees Mr. Stark. “This was a horrible idea.” He rubs against Peter and Peter’s eyes widen. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, feeling some of the last tension leave his body. And then he smirks, because the tables have turned, they’ve completely flipped, and now he’s holding all the cards because  _ he’s not nervous anymore _ . Mr. Stark is sporting an erection that feels painful even from just, just the one rub. Peter smirks and thinks of what he wants to say.

“But Mr. Stark,” he teases after that moment, wiggling back against the man, “I thought you  _ wanted  _ to spoil me.”

“And you can stop that, too,” says Mr. Stark, bouncing his forehead on Peter’s shoulder for a second and taking a deep breath. “Just stop everything and put the toys down, we’re leaving. I can’t have you here.” Across the room Ms. Potts makes a sound of deep disappointment.

“I’m not done,” Peter decides, because he’s not nervous at all anymore. He’s not nervous at all anymore and Mr. Stark is rubbing against him again, and this sex toy shop is going to be so much fun, now. “I want to look at vibrating dildos.”   
  
“Good choice,” says Marcus with a chuckle, as Mr. Stark bounces his forehead on Peter’s shoulder again and groans. “That will in no way make this more difficult for Tony.”   
  


Peter smiles at Marcus and says brightly, “Hey, so, we were talking about spanking the other day,” and Mr. Stark growls and puts his hand over Peter’s mouth and says, “No.”

"But Mr. Stark,” Peter tries to protest through the hand.   
  
“It’s okay, Peter,” calls Pepper. “I can pick out some vibrating dildos for you. And some paddles. I know what kind Tony likes.”   
  
“Ngh,” says Mr. Stark, and gnaws at Peter’s shoulder a little. “I can’t. You have to stop.”

“No,” says Peter calmly. “I don’t hear a safeword. Show me the dildos, but I don’t want to see the stupid big ones or anything weird. Mr. Stark says we’re going to come back when I’m ready for those.” Mr. Stark makes a pained noise. Peter smiles broadly at Marcus.

Marcus laughs and says, “Where did he find you, and how did he get you to kiss him? I need to have  _ seven _ of you.”

“Dildos,” says Peter firmly. “Vibrating ones.”   
  
Mr. Stark clings to Peter’s shoulders as Marcus leads Peter to a nearby cabinet and starts opening drawers and talking about features. Peter tries to look serious and interested but honestly, his plan is to leave the actual decision up to Mr. Stark after torturing him for a little while longer.

“A monster,” whispers Mr. Stark. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Unleashed,” corrects Pepper, coming up. “And you asked for it.”

She’s holding three different kinds of lube and she says, “Okay, so, hear me out, this one is tingly, Peter, and this one is warming, and I think you should try both. And this one is flavored, and it’s bubblegum flavored and I bet-”   
  
“Ngh,” interjects Mr. Stark, “I can’t- he’s so sweet-”   
  
“I bet Tony really likes the idea of that on you,” finishes Pepper, smiling broadly. “Or in you. I’m not sure how many virginities he’s taken yet.”

“Not all of them,” Peter tells her, because _for_ _fuck’s_ _sake_ , and it makes Mr. Stark twitch and gnaw on his shoulder again. “We’re saving some for a special occasion.”

“Oh, good,” says Pepper brightly. “Well, anyway, I say we get these. And that vibrating dildo, to start, the basic black one. It’ll look so nice in contrast to your skin.”

Mr. Stark twitches and groans at Peter’s back and Marcus laughs and says, “Next time give him a blowjob before you come, it’ll keep him calmer through the selection process.”   
  
“Pre-sex-toy-shopping orgasm for Mr. Stark,” acknowledges Peter with a smirk he can’t keep out of his voice, “Okay, I can remember that.”   
  
“Ngh,” grunts Mr. Stark. “No, don’t,  _ fuck _ , don’t say things like that, I’m dying.”

“Does that sound good, Mr. Stark?” asks Peter. Mr. Stark twitches. “No, I mean, is this enough stuff for our first trip? Three types of lube, three cockrings, a glass dildo and a vibrating one? Is that enough?”   
  
“Shh,” whimpers Mr. Stark, threading the fingers of one hand through Peter’s hair and tugging. “Just, stop. Stop talking.”

“It sounds good to me,” offers Marcus. “Sensible, you didn’t go overboard, you’ll be able to try new things but nothing on that list is dangerous or complicated.”

“Next time,” says Pepper brightly, “We’ll look at gags and blindfolds.”

“Oh, wait, no, I want to do that this time,” protests Peter. Tony gasps behind him, the fingers of his other hand clutching at Peter’s bicep, teeth gnawing at the back of Peter’s shirt collar.   
  
“Oh, okay,” says Pepper, and they step over to the display that Marcus indicates.   
  
“No gags,” says Tony roughly. “Don’t, he makes the best noises.”

“Okay, no gags _this_ _time_ ,” says Peter. Mr. Stark makes a noise like he’s been punched. Peter is having so much fun. “But blindfolds, yes, Mr. Stark?”  
  
“Green,” mumbles Mr. Stark. “Get a, a black one. The kind with the, not cheap, molded, here-” he looks up at the display and points to one and says, “that one, that’s the one I want.”  
  
“He gets what he wants,” Peter informs Marcus. Tony makes another pained noise and goes back to chewing on his collar.  
  
“Feeling good now?” asks Marcus. 

Peter considers it. “Well, I mean, we have ties at home, so that’s covered.” Mr. Stark growls. It’s not in agreement or disagreement, from what Peter can tell. It’s just a general growl. He smiles. “I think I’m good. Mr. Stark? Ms. Potts? Anything else?”   
  
“No,” says Mr. Stark decisively, stepping back from Peter. “You’re good. You’re too good. Let’s stop. God, let’s stop, I am not a teenager and this is not- this is not a good look on me.”

Peter disagrees. Mr. Stark’s skin is flushed just a small amount, and his eyes are wider than normal, his lips a roughened from all the chewing on Peter’s shirt. Peter pulls him closer by his tie and kisses him, because it’s Spoil Peter Day, and Mr. Stark makes a noise like he’s being knifed, and then overpowers Peter with want and need and tongue and wet.   
  
Eventually, they break for air and Mr. Stark announces, “Okay, we have to go now.”    
  
Ms. Potts and Marcus burst into laughter.

~~~

Marcus’s female assistant finishes boxing and bagging up the items, in discreet black bags that bear no label whatsoever, and discreet white boxes that absolutely do not give away the contents therein. There’s no credit card or cash register before Marcus is taking them back down the stairs, which is weird, but that happened with Angelica, too. Mr. Stark still has the choker in his jacket pocket. Maybe really rich people don’t pay for things with cards, Peter thinks with a mental shrug.   
  
Happy pulls up and they pile into the back of the limo, all three of them and the bags, too. Mr. Stark says, “I am not going back there with you, I will ravish you and it won’t even be my fault when Marcus throws us out into the street naked.”

“I’ll take you, Peter,” reassures Ms. Potts.    
  
“No, that’s not happening, the two of you alone in Marcus’s shop,” moans Mr. Stark. He’s sitting in the limo, head tipped back on the seat, legs splayed and Peter can’t help staring at his obvious hard-on.

“Well, not going again would be cruel,” Peter tells him, and watches Mr. Stark bite his lip and then say, “I need you to just stop talking, okay? Just… Sh. Pepper, we have to, the bags have to go in the trunk,  _ Christ _ , I can’t handle them here, I’ll do something we’ll all regret, please, Pep, help me out.”

“I won’t regret any of the things you do with the stuff in that bag,” Peter says, which is a direct violation of the “Sh” but he’s guessing Mr. Stark won’t call him on it.

“Me either,” says Pepper fondly. “You two are so cute together. And the windows are tinted. I can do email.” She waves her phone and at her bag with her tablet tucked inside and Mr. Stark gasps, “Stop. God, Stop, both of you.”

“But it’s Spoil Peter Day,” says Peter. “I don’t want to stop. I want to be spoiled.”

"Going. To. Kill. Me.” grunts Mr. Stark, and then he palms his erection like he’s trying to push it down.

“No, no, Marcus said that was my job,” Peter tells him, sliding out of his seat to kneel between Mr. Stark’s knees before the man can react. He looks up at Mr. Stark with a mischievous grin and says, “Color?”   
  
“Green,” says Pepper, and Peter can hear her pull out her tablet and stylus. “Just don’t expect me to participate, London office is apparently collapsing, I’m going to need a half hour. Good thing we’re headed to stop number three, right, Tony?”

“G-green,” grunts Mr. Stark, looking down at Peter, who immediately unbuckles the belt and pops the button on Mr. Stark’s pants. “You s-sure, kid?”

“Green,” says Peter simply, and then he bends to unzip Mr. Stark’s pants with his teeth, the way Mr. Stark likes him to. Mr. Stark grunts, and then groans as Peter nuzzles his way through the boxers, trying to find the flesh that’s straining the silk with his tongue and nose. 

Mr. Stark threads his fingers through Peter’s hair and Peter know his smile must be visible from outer space, he’s not surprised when Mr. Stark’s other hand twitches aside the boxer fabric a little frantically so the erection springs free, and he’s definitely not surprised when Mr. Stark’s grip on his hair tightens and he’s pushed down to choke on it. For all Mr. Stark teases him about learning some finesse, he seems to really like Peter off-balance and unable to practice any of the tricks he’s picking up. 

Peter tries swallowing, which works until it doesn’t, and he splutters, and Mr. Stark lifts his head by the hair, just high enough for Peter to get to work with his tongue and lips, and Mr. Stark grunts, “Fuck, toy, favorite fucking toy, gonna,  _ fuck, _ ” and then pushes Peter right back down again. Peter’s eyes are already watering, but he tries swallowing again, and feels the tension tighten his whole back and body.

“Fuck,” gasps Mr. Stark, and then his hand loosens and he taps Peter’s head and grunts, “g-get to work.”

Peter’s lips are stretched around Mr. Stark, but not so tightly that he can’t smile a little, as his bobs his head and swallows and hears Mr. Stark’s breath shattering in that absolutely flattering way. He has no idea how long they have, so he sets a rapid pace, and his tongue and lips work together furiously. Mr. Stark is primed and ready, and thrusts up once, no, twice, which is fun, with the motion of the car turning a curve and the angle of the seat. Peter moves with the snaps, just like Mr. Stark did last night, his body pliant and giving, and Mr. Stark seems as undone by that move as Peter had been the previous night on  _ number four _ .

Peter tries out every trick he’s learned, but what he’s mostly learned is  _ eager _ and  _ suction  _ seem to be Mr. Stark’s favorite criteria. He hums little needy noises and lets Mr. Stark see how much Peter wants his orgasm by clutching at Mr. Stark’s calves and thighs and inhaling shaky breaths with little pants and moans. It sounds downright pornographic in this backseat and Peter isn’t surprised when Mr. Stark doesn’t last long before he’s saying, “Shit, shitshitshit _ fuck _ , P-peter,” and then grunting in that deepest tone that Peter has learned is the herald to a mouthful of salty wetness. 

Peter swallows, because it’s just cum, he doesn’t get why anyone  _ would _ spit, and Mr. Stark gasps, and says, “O-okay, off, off, no more-” and pushes Peter to sit back on his heels. Mr. Stark’s pupils are blown wide and his shirt is a little rucked up, and he looks absolutely wrecked. Peter feels pretty proud of himself, and lets it show in a grin.

“Who are you and what have you done with America’s Sweetheart,” demands Mr. Stark, a hand shifting down to tuck himself back in, but leaving the pants gaping open for the moment.

“‘M yours, now,” explains Peter, and he touches the necklace. “So I’m just a little bit dirtied up, I guess.”

Mr. Stark groans and leans forward and captures Peter’s face for a kiss that slides into tongue-fucking territory within moments. “Jesus,” he gasps, breaking it. “ _ Fuck _ , kid.”

“It’s on the list,” teases Peter.

“You can stop now,” Mr. Stark tells him. “While you’re ahead, I am going to  _ destroy _ you, you can just stop now while you’re ahead and enjoy it.”   
  
Peter smiles at him, brilliant and smug, and says, “But you promised to spoil me, and we have all these new toys.”

“Oh, I am using them,” Mr. Stark assures him. “We’ll find that upper limit on that black dildo, you’ll see, I will wreck you.”

Peter shifts as he feels his dick twitch to life. 

Mr. Stark uses his laser vision to read the shift and smile down at Peter and say, “Yeah, no, you’re going to want to sit over there and think quiet thoughts about calculus, Peter, you do not want to be sporting a stiffy at our next stop.”

“Where are we going?” asks Peter, because they’ve been in the car for, well, for longer than he expected.

“Surprise,” Mr. Stark chides him, and leans over to the fridge to grab himself a water. He offers a diet coke to Ms. Potts, who takes it with a fond smile at him. Peter looks at him hopefully, and receives a coke for his efforts.    
  
“I can’t know?” asks Peter, opening the bottle to take a sip. 

“Nope,” says Mr. Stark, guzzling the water. When he’s done, he tucks in his shirt, lifts his hips, and zips his pants, making sure the line of his shirt front is smooth and even. He buckles his belt and vents a shaky laugh in Peter’s direction and says, “Damn. That was. That was-”    
  
Peter nods happily and says, “I thought you’d like it.”

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Mr. Stark informs him.

“Just for you,” Peter tells him, and Mr. Stark pulls him up off of his knees and into his arms, twisted on his lap.   
  
They kiss, quiet and calm and smooth, until the car glides to a stop. 

“I’ll wait here,” Ms. Potts announces, not even looking up from her tablet. “Give my best to Rigo.”

~~~

Mr. Stark opens the door, and they’re at another small shop front, with the windows painted white so that Peter can’t see in, and just a gold-scripted “Rodrigo’s” scrawled across them for a sign.

Mr. Stark grabs Peter’s wrist, and tugs him out of the car, pulling him to the door. He pauses a second, clearly mugging for the camera, and then the door opens, the bell ringing, and a high-pitched voice shrieks, “Tony! Oh. Em. Gee!”

Peter peers around Mr. Stark’s bulk and sees a rail-thin man with very exciting hair and a shirt that seems to be made entirely of buckles make grabby hands at Mr. Stark while stepping backwards.    
  
“Hello, Dominic,” Mr. Stark greets the man with a quelling tone in his voice. “We have an appointment. With Rigo.”   
  
“Oh, I know, love, I know,” assures the man, “But when I saw two and no Pepper, I hoped, Tony, is it true, did you find- OH. EM. GEE, is that Peter fucking Parker?”

Peter nods shyly, and puts Mr. Stark firmly between them. The man is wearing a collar with several metal loops inset at various points and Peter just came from a _sex_ _shop_ , and he knows fetish wear when he sees it, okay? Dominic is wearing a _collar_ , and Peter would bet that top is all about BDSM, too.

“You absolute  _ monster _ ,” swears Dominic, his facial expression awed. Peter bristles a bit and puts Mr. Stark firmly between them for the other man’s own safety. “I’m jealous as fuck and I don’t even care. He’s- America’s Fucking Sweetheart is  _ in the scene _ ? How did I not guess that, the leatherdaddies are going to lose their damn minds.”

“Dom,” sighs Mr. Stark. “Is Rigo aware that we’re here?”

“Oh, like it’s my job to tell him,” sniffs Dominic. “Thank you,  _ no _ .”

“Keep that lip buttoned up,” Mr. Stark growls. “Or I’ll have him button it for you, no joke, Dom.”

Dominic’s eyes go wide and hurt and he says, “ _ Tony _ , I would  _ never.  _ Don’t you  _ trust me _ , after all these  _ years _ ?”

“As far as he can throw you,” says another voice, deep and scratchy, and a man in an AC/DC t-shirt and torn jeans enters from the back. “Stop. Now. Go sit.” He snaps his fingers and Dominic huffs, but immediately moves to the nearest chair and perches on it, mouth closed in a pout.

“Sorry, Tony,” apologizes the other man. “You’re a few minutes early and I thought I’d have time to remind him- Well.” He shrugs, and turns to Peter, who’s ventured out from behind Mr. Stark now that Dominic is clearly battened down. “Hello, Peter, I’m Rodrigo. You can call me Rigo.”

“H-hello, Mr. Rigo,” says Peter. He figures it’s worth a shot, so he adds, “M-Mr. Stark says this is a surprise, but am I going to like it?”

“Just Rigo is fine,” the man tells him, and then says, “If it’s supposed to be a surprise, I’m not spoiling it.” His eyes are crinkling. “But I’d guess you’ll like it. Everyone else does.”

“Not everyone,” puts in Dominic cheerfully. Peter feels his shoulders, which had been relaxing, tense slightly again.

“Hush, you,” says Rigo. Dominic snaps his mouth shut in another pout, and claps his hands to his mouth as additional emphasis. Rigo says, “Nothing to be afraid of, I promise,” to Peter. “It really will be good.”

“O-okay,” says Peter.  _ Sure _ .

“So, I have to ask these questions, try not to panic,” says Rigo calmly. “Any health conditions, heart problems, asthma, old injuries, that kind of thing?”

Peter shakes his head and Tony says, “Nothing new for me since last time.”

“You filled out the online medical for both of you, right?” Rigo asks Mr. Stark, who scowls and says, “I mean, Pep probably did, that’s, she’s better at that kind of thing.”

Dominic makes a noise and Rigo turns to him and lifts an eyebrow in inquiry. Dominic lowers his hand and says, carefully, “Ms. Potts did complete the assessments.”

“Oh, good,” says Rigo. “Well, come on back, the chairs are ready, let’s get started.”

The back is a barbershop, in cherry wood and white and gold accents everywhere, with two young women waiting in wild outfits and white aprons with “Rodrigo’s” picked out in the same gold cursive as the front windows. Peter is gestured to the nearest chair and he slides into it gingerly.   
  
“Tony, how do you want his hair?” asks Rigo. Peter startles, because, is, is- does he not get a choice?   
  
Mr. Stark says, “Oh, just a trim, I like it just the way he wears it, all messy.”   
  
That’s okay, then, thinks Peter, he can do that.

The woman behind him nods into the mirror at Peter and whips a cape around him, silent. Why did he need a health assessment for a haircut, wonders Peter, as the woman tilts him back to the sink behind him and begins to work water through his hair. It feels wonderful, it’s the first time Peter’s ever had a shampoo and cut, and her fingers massage his scalp and he moans a little.   
  
Mr. Stark chuckles and says, “That’s not even the surprise, Peter.”

Peter is mystified but loving this part. The woman is clinical and precise, and when she’s done working the shampoo through his hair, she cuts his hair in silence, smiling at him when she crosses in front of him. He glances at Mr. Stark’s mirror and watches the man sit, eyes closed, for his own trim. When their stylists are satisfied, they’re tilted back in the chair and a hot, wet towel is draped on their faces. Peter has no idea what’s going on here, but he definitely likes it, and he sinks into the sensations. 

The towel is lifted, and foam applied to his face, and then his stylist is holding out a very scary looking three inch razor and approaching him. Peter hisses out a breath and holds absolutely still, and she smiles and shakes her head, and presses on his cheek to get him to lay his head back on the head rest. He follows her unspoken direction, and she slides the razor across his cheek smoothly. She works, again, in silence, and the sound of the razors sliding across skin is so soothing that Peter gets goosebumps at one point. She deftly tilts his head to reach everything she needs to, and he tries his best to just hold himself still for her. She smiles down at him at one point, and taps his nose with a single fingertip, clearly pleased with him. When she’s done, she wipes his face clean and applies some oil that smells like sweetness and warmth, like a fresh-baked sugar cookie. 

She lifts the chair to a sitting position and Peter finds that Mr. Stark is already waiting, watching him with a piercing gaze. “Yes, I like it,” he declares. His facial hair is never messy, but right now it’s so groomed it looks like it could cut. Peter glances in the mirror and does a double-take, because it’s his same hair, same style, but it does look better.

Peter’s stylist murmurs, “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” in a low voice, and then tugs the cape off. She gestures Peter to stand up, at the same time as Mr. Stark surges to his feet, and then guides Peter to the door at the back of the room with a gesture. Mr. Stark is already through the door and following his stylist down the next hallway. She leads him through a door to the left, and Peter’s stylist stands in front of it and gestures Peter into the room opposite. He doesn’t like being separated from Mr. Stark, but he trusts Rigo’s assessment that he’s going to like everything, because so far, he’s loved everything. 

There’s a table, draped in soft sheets and blankets, and his stylist moves to help him unbutton his shirt, which makes Peter twitch. She smiles at him, softly, encouraging, and slips the shirt from him to hang it on a hanger on the back of the door. “Full treatment,” she whispers, and slips off his shoes and socks, sliding them onto a strange holder. She undoes his pants while kneeling, and slides them off, too. He’s never had a massage, but he can guess that’s what’s happening here, and if he wasn’t so nervous, he’d be sprouting an erection, he knows it. Thank God he’s nervous, how embarrassing would  _ that _ be.

She taps the waistband of his boxers and whispers, “It will be better without.” She tilts her head up to him and he bites his lip and nods permission. She smiles, and slides them off to fold them over her arm on top of the pants already draped there. She stands, and tugs his hand gently, indicating the bed, lifting the covers to allow him to slip onto it, face down. She covers him up smoothly and the warmth of the blankets soaks in almost immediately.

He hears her rustle behind him, hanging his clothes, probably, and then gentle soft music fills the room. He hears her approach the bed, and the sound of something wet being pumped onto skin.

Her touch is warm, and soothing, and confident. He feels himself start drifting, as she rubs his neck and shoulders, and then exposes one arm with a neat flip of the blankets and works her way down to each individual fingertip and back again. He floats, warm and relaxed and feeling amazing, as she rubs his entire body with the sweet cookie-smelling oil. A moan slips out when she kneads his butt, but he feels too good to care. 

She pauses after every muscle in his body is limp, one hand on his exposed butt, and leans over to whisper into his ear, “Here? For Mr. Stark?” and slide a slick finger between his butt cheeks. Peter flushes, but imagines the jealous gleam in Mr. Stark’s eyes when finds out, and bites his lip, and nods.

She straightens again, and there’s the sound of oil squirting, and then her finger breeches his body, massaging and spreading the oil. Her finger is  _ so small _ , and delicate, but Peter doesn’t breathe until she’s done. She runs a soothing hand down his spine until he’s boneless again, and then flips the blankets up and goes to wash her hands at the small sink. 

She returns, and guides him to flip face up. She re-applies more of the oil and starts her massage at his temples this time, and it’s just as wonderful as the back, and Peter is back to floating. She avoids his crotch, and he’s half-asleep when she leans over and whispers, “Yes, here, too? You will taste so sweet, irresistible?” And pats gently at his crotch. 

Peter bites his lip and nods, but then hisses, “S-sorry, I-if I…”

She rubs a soothing hand across his chest and whispers, “No, that is good, you should feel good, good for Mr. Stark, I- I will never abuse the privilege.”

Peter nods and so she twitches the blankets, and oils his dick, too, oils everything. While he twitches, he doesn’t get more than half-hard and she twitches the blankets back over him with a soft sound of approval.

She leaves him alone then, sliding out of the room, and he lets himself drift, enjoying the feeling of delicious relaxation and calm and warmth. He has no idea how long she is gone before she returns, and the lights come up slightly and she helps him to sit up. 

She dresses him like a doll, careful and respectful, and hands him a cold cup of water with just a hint of citrus flavoring. It tastes delicious, and he sips as she takes him by the hand, threading their fingers together, back through the barbershop and out into the lobby.

Mr. Stark is sitting on one of the leather benches, and his stylist is sitting perched on his lap, facing the front door, and holding the cup to his lips while she giggles.

He turns as they enter and smiles and says, “Mai Pa, was he awful?”

Peter’s stylist shakes her head, smiling sweetly, and pulls Peter by their entwined fingers to sit beside Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark shifts his stylist to his other knee abruptly, and she gasps with laughter and bats at this shoulder. “He is so good,” Mai Pa reassures Mr. Stark, her voice quiet and pleased. “He is the best you have ever brought me. A jewel.”

“He is, now,” agrees Mr. Stark, clearly complimenting her, and she ducks her head and flushes while the other stylist whispers in Mr. Stark’s ear and then giggles.

“You are nothing but naughty,” laughs Mr. Stark, tapping her on the nose, and then scooting her off his lap, standing. “Where’s Rigo, I’m going to complain, so naughty!”

She giggles helplessly, and touches his elbow, slides her fingers down his forearm, and laughs, “No, please, Mr. Stark, I will do better.”

Mr. Stark smiles at her and says, “Okay.”

He turns to Peter and says, “You ready for lunch?”

Peter nods. He could definitely eat again. Every patch of skin on his body is tingling with feel-good-feel-good and there’s oil in his butt  _ for Mr. Stark _ and he smells like a sugar cookie. He feels spoiled and very very  _ kept _ , and it’s very strange and also very nice. “Pizza?” he asks.

Mr. Stark sighs and says, “Ok. Spoil Peter Day. Pizza.”


	7. Chapter 7

The paparazzi, as promised by Angelica, arrive with their pizza at Motorino’s. Peter has reservations about the soppresata pizza Mr. Stark has ordered for him. In the first place,  _ what’s soppresata _ , but when it comes out, it’s like a type of pepperoni so that’s fine.

The place is deserted at 2 PM when they arrive, or at least, that’s what Peter thinks until he realizes that the place is actually closed, for a private party, and that private party is  _ them _ .

Pepper brings her tablet with her; apparently London isn’t collapsing, it’s  _ bursting into flame _ and collapsing.

The staff must leak it, Peter figures, because they’re tucked in a back booth, out of sight.   
  
They’re just finishing up when Pepper checks her phone and swears, “Oh  _ hell _ , Happy says the tourists are gathering outside.”   
  
Mr. Stark sighs and takes another bite and says, “Well, we can try to sneak out the back or just dive through, whatcha want to do, Peter?”

“Dive through?” hazards Peter. Pepper winces. “Go out the back,” he corrects.    
  
But when they get to the kitchen to ask after a back entrance, a busboy jogs in and says, “Uh, there’s a bunch of guys in the alley? With cameras?”

Pepper’s shoulders slump and she says, “ _ Hell.” _

Mr. Stark says, “I got it,” and he lifts a phone to his ear and instructs Happy to open the back door to the limo for them in five minutes.

Mr. Stark looks at Peter and says, “Okay, no ropes right now, so they’re going to be everywhere, you’re going to get touched, just, don’t step on anyone or hit anyone and keep telling them you’re running late and can’t stop. And don’t make eye contact.”

Peter takes all this in and then says, “Uh, Mr. Stark, can I try something first?” because he’s got an idea. 

He watches Mr. Stark consider him and shifts uncomfortably under the man’s quick gaze. Pepper slides off to use the bathroom and Peter decides to use it, too, while Mr. Stark makes his decision. When he comes out, Mr. Stark is standing there and he says, “Maybe, depends on what you want to do?”

“Just, we need ropes and I kinda always have ropes on me,” says Peter guilelessly, spreading his hands. The nanobots form up to make the webshooters on his wrists and Mr. Stark’s eyes widen minutely.    
  
“Oh my God, kid,” splutters Mr. Stark. “No. Well. Maybe, let me hit the can and we’ll talk when I’m out.”

“Talk about what?” asks Pepper, rejoining them looking very freshened, indeed. She totally did her make-up again, Peter thinks.   
  
“I think I can make us some ropes, at least,” Peter says. She purses her lips, eyeing his webshooters and says, “Yeah, that could work, if it doesn’t turn into a tragedy. Funny, cute, a nice little headline, sure. I’ll allow it. Make sure you aim to either side of the door after Happy opens it and don’t hit Happy, he likes you.”

Peter grins at her. She smiles back wryly, one of his favorite expressions on her face.

When Mr. Stark exits the bathroom, he’s wiping his hands and he says, “Yeah, okay. This is a stupid idea, but I’m in. Let’s see how it works.”

They have the busboys open the door and push the crowd off the stoop, at least. Peter squints into the glare of the sunlight, eyes up the angles, and shoots both webs at once, shouting, “Nobody move!” The webs hit the limo with a splat, one on either side of the door, and the crowd is frozen. He says, into the absolute silence, “Hi, guys, we’re late, so I need you to get on the other side of the ropes so we can get to the limo.”

The crowd, mostly tourists, moves quickly. There’s a couple of grizzled paparazzi who bark out laughs, but they move, too. Peter slices the webs and hands one to each busboy, saying, “Thanks, guys.” He looks back at Mr. Stark and Pepper in time to catch Pepper sliding her arm into Mr. Stark’s, and then he’s leading them serenely to the limo. No one pushes on the webs. Cameras flash like crazy.

“OHMIGOD I LOVE YOU SPIDERMAN,” shouts a voice from the back of the crowd as he reaches the door to the limo, and Peter smiles in the woman’s general direction and shouts back, “Thanks for being so awesome! I hate being late, you know?”

As Pepper settles back into her seat in the back of the limo and Happy closes the door behind her, she leans over and kisses Peter’s cheek. “You are so perfect, Peter Parker,” she murmurs, and then opens her tablet again.

He glances at Mr. Stark, who is looking out the window with an odd expression on his face. As if he can feel Peter’s glance, he turns to look at Peter and his face breaks out into a smile. He crows, “That. Was. Awesome.” 

Peter smiles back, exhilarated, and Mr. Stark gestures for him to scoot closer. “Mm, you smell like dessert,” mumbles Mr. Stark, nuzzling Peter’s neck. 

Pepper looks up and narrows her eyes and says, “Tiramisu. He smells like tiramisu and Mai Pa is a genius.”

“Did you get the full rubdown I requested,” asks Mr. Stark, and Peter is having a hard time focusing on words with Mr. Stark’s breath across his throat like that. Eventually he parses the statement and says, “Uh, y-yeah, Mr. Stark.”

“Oooh,” says Mr. Stark, his teeth grazing Peter’s earlobe and why does that feel  _ so good _ ? Peter shivers. “The full one?”

Peter thinks of the dark room, Mai Pa’s finger, her whispered voice next to his ear asking,  _ For Mr. Stark? _ quietly, and shivers again and nods. “Mmm,” hums Mr. Stark, folding back Peter’s collar to give his teeth more access, more skin to nip at, “But Peter, the  _ full one _ ?” he presses.

Peter hisses, “Yess, sir,” and then, “Y-you promised no bad blushes.”

Pepper chuckles.

“Such a good boy, so prepared,” hums Mr. Stark, his hand sliding down Peter’s chest to pop the catch of the grey slacks.    
  
“Not enough time,” warns Pepper.

“We can circle the block, tell Happy code bicycle.”

Pepper blows a breath up through her bangs and says, “This honeymoon phase, the things I do for you, London is _burning down around me,_ ” and then she takes out her phone. 

Peter has no idea where they are, or where they’re going next, but no one is asking him for his opinion, anyway. Mr. Stark’s hand slides his zipper open and he breathes against Peter’s throat, “Just checking,” and Peter bites his lip, because there’s still, there’s still enough oil there that Mr. Stark’s hand on his dick, well, it springs to full attention after just the first rub and tug. It feels so good, and Mr. Stark chuckles in his ear and says, “Mai Pa, you’re an angel,” and then nips at Peter’s jawline. Peter blows out a breath and tips his head back and decides it’s Spoil Peter Day so he’s going to let Mr. Stark have whatever Mr. Stark wants.

Mr. Stark mutters, “Christ, kid, look at you,” and Peter pries an eye open. His legs are splayed across the back of the limo, Mr. Stark half crouched next to him, body twisted to focus on Peter. He’s wearing designer pants and a perfectly tailored shirt. His whole body is coated in a fine layer of tiramisu-scented body oil, his hair is still tousled artfully, and, oh yeah, Mr. Stark’s hand is shoved down his pants, jerking him off. He looks up at Mr. Stark and Mr. Stark says, “Yeah, you’re kept. You’re so kept. I’m keeping you.  _ Mine _ .”   
  
The words, passionate and possessive, match the hungry look in his eyes and Peter can’t help it, he thrusts up, and Mr. Stark’s eyes snap with electricity as he says, “Yeah, okay, let’s do that. That’s a great idea, let’s do that.” He lowers his head to gnaw at Peter’s neck while Peter thrusts up against his hand, setting a quick pace. When Peter flags- not his fault, the angle is weird and awkward- Mr. Stark’s fingers tease until he’s thrusting again, but Peter already knows he’s not lasting too much longer. 

Mr. Stark growls, “Peter, you wearing my collar? On your neck, is that mine?” Peter nods, frantically, biting his lip again, his hips twisting into-away from-into Mr. Stark’s grip.

“Mm,” hums Mr. Stark, and he continues, voice filled with gravel and lust, “Mine, on your neck, that’s mine, and this is mine,” his fist jerks up and Peter can’t help it, he moans, “everything on you today, everything you’re wearing, mine, all mine, Mai Pa got you ready for me, you smell fucking delicious, for me-” he licks a stripe up Peter’s neck, lewd and lurid, and then take’s Peter’s jaw between his teeth and growls, “Mine,” and Peter’s world briefly shakes apart as he cums.

When he comes back to the limo, Mr. Stark says, “Well, these boxers are ruined, did you pack more?”   
  
“N-no, Mr. Stark,” gasps Peter. Pepper snorts. 

“Quick pit stop,” Mr. Stark says. “Agent Provocateur.”

“That’s not quick,” observes Pepper. 

“You can run in,” Mr. Stark assures her.

“Mm,” says Pepper repressively. “I’ll order ahead. They can bring it to the door.”   
  
“Off, off, these pants, you’ll ruin them,” Mr. Stark complains, pawing at Peter’s clothes.

“Excuse you, my brain just leaked out my ears,” Peter tells him, shifting to kick off his shoes.

“That wasn’t your ears,” chuckles Mr. Stark, helping him slide the pants and boxers off his butt.

Peter is now sitting in the limo butt naked. “Can I have a coke?” he asks, because  _ honestly his life is so weird _ . Well, plus he’s thirsty.

Pepper looks up from her tablet and smiles at him and says, “You’re having that moment, right? Where you’re remembering like, six months ago, and as crazy as that was, it seems normal in comparison to this.”

Peter nods at her and she laughs as Mr. Stark cracks open a coke and passes it to Peter. “That never stops,” she tells him. “I’m, what, it’s more than a decade, and I still, he’ll do something absolutely awful and I’ll sit there for a second and think, ‘How is this my life?’ I mean, Peter, I’m in a limo, on a tablet that was custom-designed for me by the brightest mind in the world, yelling at the Director of Operations of Stark Industries, London, who is terrified of me right now, I think he’s crying, and trying to ignore the love of my life giving his teenage boy-toy a handjob so I can focus on supply chain issues. Life is just unreal in his orbit.” Her eyes smile at him, inviting him into the joke.

Peter nods, and crinkles his eyes back at her as he sips the coke. They’re the only two people in the world who can even imagine sharing this moment. The car pulls to a stop and she looks out the window, sighing. “And now I’m going to go pick up your new underwear. Try not to get molested while I’m gone.” 

Peter nods frantically, flipping his shirt over his crotch just in case. 

Mr. Stark snorts, “I’m maybe in the top ten, sure, but not the brightest mind in the world.”

“No,” disagrees Peter. “She’s right. You’re the brightest.”   
  
Mr. Stark squeezes his thigh. He tilts his head back and says, “So, how’s Spoil Peter Day going so far? You feel spoiled?”

Peter thinks about it and then says, honestly, “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as spoiled as I am right now.”   
  
“Wait until you see our next stop,” Mr. Stark assures him, as Pepper re-enters the car waving a black bag.

“They didn’t have boxers,” she says regretfully, and pulls out a pair of black lace briefs, dangling them from her fingertips. “Sorry-not-sorry?”

Peter gulps and nods, and then slides them on because what the hell, it’s better than free-balling with Mr. Stark around.

Mr. Stark stares at him, specifically at where the black lace briefs cut across his thigh, and grabs Peter’s hand as he reaches for his pants. Mr. Stark says, “N-no. No pants, ever. We have to go home.”

Pepper laughs and taps Mr. Stark’s wrist and says, “Tony, Tone, one more stop and then we can go home and I promise you can peel him out of them. One more last stop.”

Peter is laughing inside at Mr. Stark’s murderous expression. They’re just underwear. They looked ridiculous in Ms. Potts hands, and they feel ridiculous on Peter, but they’re just underwear.

“No,” argues Mr. Stark stubbornly. “Tell Happy, turn the car, I need- I can’t, _Pepper_.”

“You will, Mr. Stark, you promised. I’ve been wanting to go since last month,” Pepper tells him severely, as the car slides to a stop and Peter shakes off Tony’s hand to slide into his gray slacks again.

They’re in Queens, Peter notices, as he figures out the clasp to the pants and bats away Mr. Stark’s hands. They’re in Queens and- he pauses, struck by what’s outside the window, his jaw dropping. “A-are we?”

“Yup,” says Pepper, popping the last sound. 

“New York Hall of Science,” breathes Peter. He scrambles for the door. “Oh my God. I love this place.”

“Called it,” mutters Mr. Stark, but he’s right behind Peter so it’s not like this is a chore. “We’re going to go look around for a while and then hit the gift shop and I can buy you whatever I want,” he warns Peter. “Including a Large Hadron Collider if they have one up for sale.”

“They don’t,” Pepper tells Peter, waving over a manager, probably to explain that they own three of the exhibits so  _ let them in _ . Peter practically has his nose pressed to the glass and Mr. Stark chuckles and says, “Okay, let’s go, this is going to be fun.”

~~~

It is fun. It’s fun to walk around and see the old exhibits and he races through them, just to show Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts his favorite parts, and there’s some new stuff that’s pretty awesome, too. There’s a HALL OF LEGOS, which, he could spend all day there, it’s so cool, he wishes briefly he had Ned here. It’s 6 o’clock when Pepper finally says, “Okay, Peter, gift shop, hate to peel you away, but we need to get back to the Tower.”

In the gift shop, Mr. Stark threatens to buy one of everything, but Pepper talks him down to some magnets for the fridge, a coffee cup that looks like a beaker, and a game about the Coppernicus Strain.

Peter is exhausted and starving as they ride back to the Tower. Mr. Stark seems tired, too, and Ms. Potts has left her tablet in her bag and is resting her head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder. Mr. Stark gestures Peter over, and he tucks himself against Mr. Stark’s bicep and watches the city roll by outside the limo.    
  
“My two best, most favorite people,” mumbles Mr. Stark, one hand patting Pepper’s knee and the other rising to trace along Peter’s jawline. “How the fuck did I-”

“You don’t deserve us, you never will,” Pepper teases him, kissing his shoulder.

“But we don’t deserve you, either,” says Peter firmly. Pepper murmurs a sound of agreement and they sit like that, Pepper on one side and Peter on the other, and Mr. Stark held safely between them, the rest of the way back to the Tower.

**Author's Note:**

> So from here on out, it's just going to be throwing them into fun situations to make more porn for us all. I've already got a chapter for Mile High done, and one where there's some Hurt/Comfort/WhompPeter/FreakedOutTony action. Feel free to leave inspiration/requests in the comments, I can't guarantee I'll write them but you might spark something!
> 
> AND I MEAN CLEARLY THE NEXT CHAPTER IS PETER GETS SPANKED, OKAY? NOT TO SPOIL THAT, BUT I AM NOT LEAVING ANYONE HANGING. I just... I just have to have time to write it. Gimme a week.
> 
> Also, please, this, like, it's Chapter 12, y'all. If you made it all the way here just to criticize me, but you haven't bothered to chat with me in the comments? Just go away, you gigantic dork. PRAISE ME FIRST, then correct my spelling. (THEN PRAISE ME AGAIN. I need that compliment sandwich. Unless you want to beta. Then you can be cruel.)


End file.
